No Home For More Shoes Poem by Lalithashree Ganesh

rickety boats, rocky paths
tired bodies
lost feet, looking
for homes
and a hearty meal...

who are 'they'
where do 'they' come from
wither do 'they' wander
where will 'they' go

bruised.
hungry.
HURT.

with half a ray
of hope
they surrender

and flow
like a river,
until
they find,
the ocean

'who are they
wither do they wander, do you ask? '

'Refugee, refugee, refugee, that's what they're called.'
'Freedom, freedom, freedom, that's what they long for.'

Auden knew. Eliot knew.
The Dalai Lama knew.

And now,
we all
know.

But then, my friend,
we are a tad too busy
to pay attention

'Refugee? ? ? Perhaps I've heard that word before', he said.
'What's that? ', she said.