rifugiati

ma per le lacrime

un bambino può piangere

la sua infanzia è stata rubata da lui

scartato sui binari

un straccio insanguinato lasciato alle spalle

un altro passato prosciugando

che soffia attraverso i traversine ferroviarie

scorpioni danzano sopradi raffreddamento pietre grigie

Egli li guarda venire se fossero giocattoli

egli non può avere

Gli occhi scuri di sua madre detengono

l'idea di casa

per illuminare il percorso di domain

attraverso le ombre scure e crudele

ma come il filo spinato taglia profondamente

terrore indebolisce la sua speranza

lei non si lascia andare la mano di suo figlio

Barry DeCarli

25 Settembre 2015

Su Hammond Pond

© 2015 Barry DeCarli

Draft # 2- translation with much help from Google Translate

http://barrydecarli.blogspot.com/

refugees

but for the tears

a small boy may shed

his childhood has been torn from him

discarded on the tracks

a bloodied rag left behind

another past drying up

blowing across the oiled ties

scorpions dance over the cooling grey stones

he watches as if they are toys

he can not have

his mother’s dark eyes hold

the idea of home

to light the path ahead

through the dark cruel shadows

even as the razor wire slices deep

as terror tempers her hope

she does not let go of his hand

Barry DeCarli

September 25, 2015

On Hammond Pond

©2015 Barry DeCarli

Draft #2

lost message

the scarcity of time becomes

too much to waste.

still the pain lasts

and grows

as cells turn too brittle

too emaciated to hold a good memory.

no wonder we miss the sign

pulsing against our eyelids.

the message we won’t accept

takes too much time to get through:

some forgetful god is unable to shape an answer other than

no.

Barry DeCarli

May 19, 2010 & September 18, 2015

On Hammond Pond

©2015 Barry DeCarli