Cradling their babies in endless woes,
Mouths whisper to the Gods to forgive their sins;
Eyes gazing at their sad, longing spouses,
Souls, yearning to regurgitate words of comfort.
Tears flip flop upon the deck like musical wails,
Days and nights, they long to devour anything to survive.
Shattered by the unknown, hearts, tattered like filthy, old rags.
Boat people, entering the vortex the dead, Praying to see the crimson new sun above.
© tri tran
Dedicated to: those boat people
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