What Is Real? Poem by Leonard Dabydeen

What is real does not turn away

as if it has a chance to escape

like the wind in a storm

dead bodies lying in the street

cannot move for shelter

from the rubble

if you do not find a sanctuary

to congregate them

watching dead men walking is not real

not even for Edgar Allan Poe

what is real cannot be imagined

putrid scent from the heated air

as rigor mortis sets in is what you inhale

you breathe death

every which way you turn

you try to lend support to a body

sporting a broken limb or other body part

and you cannot cry in unison

what you hold and see

is what is real

hunger and thirst unimaginable

you cannot see, cannot feel

but you know their existence

you only have to believe

I cry for you Port-au-Prince

in my heart I know

what is real

but do you know

what is real?