Читать книгу Word Simple - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 7

those voices you do not hear,

faceless through all the years,

beaten down by batons, political

speech, angry cold stares, left

with festering wounds on the

filthy streets are newcomers here

who pushed from your dreams

mirror a overlooked history. the

grieving maids in your homes, the

gardeners who help your flowers

grow, the brick layers putting up

the fancy neighborhood mansions,

the wounded who sob emptying

the rubbish bins in the offices that

make this country rich, the children

who long for their deported parents

from unimaginable depths are like

you in the settling night searching

simply for a place to call sweet, sweet

home. in the ordinary days when you

cannot find time to listen to the words

shouting of another world, when you

turn away from dark hands that offer to

set you free, in the silences across

this earth, the revelations of detested

refugees, remember these lives and

all their other tongues more than the

management’s present inhumanity.