
Long before dawn’s first kiss,
the daily battles start anew:
We huddle, shivering, in a serpentine line,
a thousand souls, each yearning for a loaf of bread.
Six aching hours.
Some will leave with the same empty hands they arrived with.
Grandparents: old, sick, unable to stand.
Parents: clinging to their children’s hands.
Lone siblings, hoping to feed their families
instead of their own hearts with more grief.
Another battle.
The harder one:
Another queue for water.
Any container will do.
If our tears could fill them,
we would have enough.
Long after the moon’s sad lullaby,
we all gather in silence
seeking sweet rest…finding it temporary and bitter…
–before the dawn returns
and with it, the next battle.