Planting themselves
in my life, I saw the faces.
Of those leaving
their homes, their land
and their fathers behind.
Trying to escape the hard rain.
Of the ghosts buried
under hospital rubble.
No longer able to drift
into open days.
Or taste the sweet
spring sleet.
Of the freed prisoners,
now taking up arms.
Defending the ancient bones
of the people’s history.
Standing side-by-side
with those who do great deeds,
to keep the nations freedom.
And the cats,
littered across the streets
with no place to go.
Still looking for love
and attention.
And a kind head
amongst the broken rocks.
A domain, that once again
they can call home.
All day and all night.
And everyone worships them.
A Wandering Poet 