Sandwiched Hearts

Walls can’t silence the neighbor’s voices,
their sobs and laughter seep into the head,
as heat bakes the thin shelters,
where hearts feel stacked as sandwiches,
sweltering in sweaty and sticky seconds.

Flies form their S trails in the air,
landing on the small and precious hordes
of desperately gleamed provisions,
bartered in anxious trepidation at the marketplace,
praying the fruit and vegetables won’t spoil
before they can be eaten.

Stained and soiled skin clothed in shabby rags,
walk barefoot down the rickety planks
parents and grandparents once trod.
The spirit can feel their ghosts watching
out of the shadows as if still caring and hoping
some freedom will release their descendants
from this legacy of layered poverty.

Yet in the midst of those rancid smells
there is also the song that comes
out of souls who still see the sky
claiming life in the middle of the cramped darkness.

Faith flows with its defiant sounds,
they are heard along with the calming tones of love,
families who cling to each other
gently holding onto the frail framework of survival.

Hope still shines in the sun’s shafts
piercing the cracks in the wooden structures,
creating their patches of white
on the weather beaten textures.

The mind suppresses the vines of depression
while looking into a child’s eyes,
for in all the oppressive air that drains the dreams
inside there still burns a candle
keeping alive the fire to wait for another sunrise.