Eastern Soul

The sun bleached ghost clothes shifted in the late summer zephyr

Gathered on rails, a shabby huddle of refugees, limp and hopeless

Dusty cobbles burning through summer sandals etching like parchment

The Arabic symbols inscribed forever on her soles, seeping into her skin

Freckled shoulders weighed heavy under the oppressive sky

A deepening burden that nobody could ever understand

Kebabs sizzled in smoky doorways and the sweet scent of Cezerye

Lingered in the narrow street, a reminder that she was so far from home

An abandoned wailing from the minaret reflected on the faded shutters

Caught in her ears and murmured through the damp hair which clung to her neck

That lonesome howling she could not have imagined would haunt her

Waking her gasping and sweating from her white cotton dreams

Her Eastern soul never sleeps