Sunday 16 June 2013

Refugees by Ray Sharp

We carry our sorrows
in tin cups
and leather-bound journals.

Ink tracks the yellowed pages
like foot steps
on a barren plain.

At night
we stir the red coals
of dying fires.

This is what stars
would look like
fallen at our feet.


Ray Sharp, Michigan, USA


3 comments:

Jacopo Serafinelli said...

These are very sad and true words...
refugees of the world, recognize themselves in this words.

I have read this poetry in this way!

Ciao! Jacopo

janetld said...

Enjoyed reading your poignant poem here! My v. favorite part:

We carry our sorrows
in tin cups ...

Crafty Green Poet said...

I've reposted this poem as I originally meant to put it up for Refugee Week (which starts tomorrow) but inadvertently put it up a week early!