zaterdag 19 september 2015


We’re all refugees,
on our way to come home
at a certain moment,
some day
in this or another life,

our soul rooted out,
wrested from and in a fight
to keep alive,

to leave the home of your heart
and to be lonely without a land,
to know that maybe
you’ll never go back again,

dependent on charity
of the decadence of the abundance
and seeing that some
don’t want to break the bread
putting their wines in the deepest cellar

death has been scraped from the waves
as a toxic foam on the lips of the child
that never will return
on this world,

the barricades of the barbed wire
will never stop the hunger,
the blood of this crown of thorns
will again have to be carried
before they will believe again.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere


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