Archipelago of despair

From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.”

Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception

We are castaways on isolated islands;
              broken masts were planted on sand
                          remembrance of oaks 
among the palm trees.

There we built our architectural messes
                only one rule to live;
                       the less we have
                            the more we share.

Tents and caravans raised over
  insufficient humanitarian oasis;
            death flies over cities of misery
as the water washes the memories in pain
     if we're lucky
                      and pray.

Fire burns to ashes 
            the temporary permanence
                       the shelter:
the doll the little girl used to dress
                        everyday.
The football these youngsters
used to play with their neighbours.
The spared possesions left:
          books, amulets, photographs 
last things to remember
                     what used to be home
burned to ashes.

No rainshade 
No medical assitance
No food
No compasion.

If you're a single man
     you're hopes are disposable
             you're suffering is negligible
                      you're life is expendable.

Another boy has been found
                                                       as a corpse
                                                                       drowned;
he couldn't afford living
knowing what expects him.

From oasis to oasis
from prision to prision
from island to island
archipelago of growing despair
consumes like flames.

There's no hope
There's no future
There's no good.

THERE IS FREEDOM
THERE IS PLACE
THERE IS REWARD.

Just wait
and work.




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