Skip to content


October 19, 2010


 The radio played softly.

She sat quietly by,

Her eyes seeing only something

In the far distance,

Her small child’s hands

Gently folded in her lap.


The heat and dust

Held in the tiredness

And the sadness

Of the refugee camp.

I touched her arm cautiously.

I did not want to disturb

Her special, deep thoughts.

“Do you know the song?”

I asked of the music

Flowing from the radio.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then sing for me,”

I requested.

She looked at me,

Her eyes suddenly glistening.

“No uncle.

I don’t want to sing,

I just want to go home.”

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: