The homeless and rejected,
Now congregate once more,
Like flotsam and jetsam,
On some forgotten shore.
A couch without its cushions,
Its armrest bare and frayed,
A cardboard box of memories
And games no longer played.
A wooden chair that stands askew,
Its strength no longer trusted.
Against it leans a bicycle,
Its buckled wheel now rusted.
Prefabricated furniture
In disassembled parts,
A radio that no longer sings,
A board for playing darts.
We surrender to the market place.
We simply gather too much stuff.
Then ask 'where shall we put it? '
Of space - there's not enough
So every year, come spring time,
While flowers brightly bloom,
We label things 'unwanted'
Just to make some room.
Too soon there comes the summer,
With gifts on Christmas Day,
And all that space created,
Like chaff, is blown away.
So they huddle at the roadside,
‘Neath two ornamental trees,
On a cold October morning,
Spring cleaning refugees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
after the 4th stanza i thought i figured out what you were talking about by 'refugees'. well, i was only partly correct; not very. i thought your were really talking about stuff on a shore; 'garbage/trash' which had found its way to an ocean and washed ashore. now i've finished reading and i see the ending. but the part about summer, followed by Christmas gifts and then October........ that was a bit of a question mark for me. do you celebrate Christmas in September in your part of the world? ? bri :) i guess it has something to do with the southern hemisphere seasons being different than ours up 'north'.