The weight

His lens told me everything I needed to know 

the weight of the loss, emotions with no bridge to cross

I knew but could never understand how heavy it must feel

how the films in the mind are recorded onto the darkest reel

the weight of that metal bucket crushing down on your home

the weight of all the rubbish left to rot after weeks of being thrown

the weight of the clouds of rain that persist above you

the weight that you carry, its no bad dream this is real and true

and I fear for 

where the mind goes when the body forgets that it shivers

when the stomach can’t hear its grumble

and the ears don’t hear the thunder

arms so small

they should only have to reach

for the embrace of a loving parent

for the ring of a basket ball hoop

instead of trudging long and hard

through a pit of waste and soup

children with fierce looking eyes, 

strength comes not with age but through having to fight to survive

waste scattered across the landscape and cutting through the mind, 

how can this forgotten figure

find peace in such demise

how to lighten the load of this crisis, 

to create comfort and warmth in a place born of human vices 

to clear the waste and start a fresh, 

there’s so much space

how can we say there’s none left