Santa Monica
Children of the iron curtain
Stripped of God from birth,
Crawling on a toothless wall,
Question marks on compass.
Chicks growing colored wings,
Door unlocked - unable to believe
Sunrise doesn't come with bars
For those who can still fly...
No man's land - unable to catch roots,
Holograph of gardens back home
Tended by parents with disrupted movements,
Tears muffled on the California coast...
Children of the iron curtain...
Each sunset gathers them on beaches,
Champion chess players of their fate
Stop and salute me as I drive along
alone...
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by: Iolanda Scripca 5/18/2009 |
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