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


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!