So we fled from the tank and the Colonel's lies,
To a world disappointed we didn't yet die.
We stacked our names in a garbage sack,
With dry leaves of Neem trees on our back.
The sea is a courtroom that gives no decree,
Just the salt and the cold and the apathy.
It swallowed the mother, it swallowed the child,
And the waves reached the shore so gentle and mild.
We came to the Border,
the imaginary wall,
They met us with radar, with heat-seeking eyes,
Watching the raft capsize under the skies.
I saw the Guy on the opposite sand,
With a drink in his grip and a tan on his hand.
He looked at the horizon and not the dead,
"A beautiful view,"
is all that he said.
The water washed up a shoe and a bone.
"Trash,"
he murmured.
Then sipped his drink.