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There's nothing left here for death to claim; even hunger
has abandoned the swollen bellies of the wandering children:
eyes sunkened deep into desiccated cranial caverns.
In this fenced graveyard of the living dead,
flies soar to and fro---depositing maggots
in the festering wounds of fleeing life:
their ghost awaiting their liberation.
In this God forsaken place, time---
like limp breast---lingers on:
the hourglass of life slowly emptying its self.
Here, in this hell on earth,
there is nor refuge for the refugee.
