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