Mommy I’m cold
and tired
of the waves
washing over me.
Storms forced us to sail
far from home
to strange new lands
where hearts can freeze.
Their blood is boiling
not for us,
but for a better future
we also seek.
Their doors are shut
to preserve the warmth
we don’t feel
while wandering
through borders and streets.
Where can I rest,
Mommy?
Perhaps on this beach
where the angry hands
no longer touch me.
Sorry to leave you
amid endless empty words
and statistics.
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 