They are walking altogether
dragging their feet
limping, sobbing, silently
through paths made slippery by mud, knee-deep,
Making tracks on the desert sand, ephemeral,
some have chilly mountains to overcome, clattering teeth,
but the caravan of pain moves on.
Not a sound but footsteps of sighs
only the children cry, they don't know better.
It's a sad world we live in
people running from guns
from machetes of steel, bleeding.
A blue sky does not guarantee a glorious day,
drones hide behind the blue, ready to pounce.
It's a strange world we live in
despots push the buttons
and puppets run helter skelter.
It's an unjust world we live in
where justice can see
and do as the kings wish.

Syrian refugees at the Budapest Keleti railway station, Hungary.