By Dru Long
Silent girl, a thousand miles away from home,
like a frozen icicle slowly melting,
before grey men, in grey suits, in a grey room,
dissolving in the heat of harsh questioning.
Where are your mother, father, brother?
Why come here? How old are you? Where are you from?
‘How to speak of the beloved mother?’
Silent girl, a thousand miles away from home.
‘The harsh screeching of the wind through the sands
Sand in our hair, in our mouths and our eyes,
Mother falling, her neck cracks as she lands,
Little brother, the wind sweeps away our cries’.
The brother, they are demanding, what of him?
‘How to explain how he slipped through my hands,’
Pale eyes, straight mouths, and faces grim,
‘The harsh screeching of the winds through the sands.’
Speak silent girl, for those forever silent.
like the iceberg calving, splits and cracks and parts,
the groaning sounds of calving words has rent
the peace in grey rooms, and splintered frozen hearts.
Dru Long 2023