Love Letter To Poland From One Long Escaped.... Poem by Frank Bana

I gazed across the continent
From where the lines of footprints came
Red blood buried in the soil
Topped with winter frost and all
The rivulets of sweat and screams
That tore the life from childhood dreams

The migrants knocking now again
Another band of fugitives
Stand exiled at the swinging door
Piteous and proud, the young men's faces pale
With tools and attitudes, muscles for sale

Torn tongues and morals frayed, running
From times of terrifying choice
These migrant armies, partisans
Drawn to the scent of money, not the cause
Their brothers left without a voice
Performing all it costs them to survive
And cling onto the ledges of a life.

Leaving a land where romance is defiled
Indifferent to suffering
Where poets lie with no translation
Fault lies in another place
The nightly search for solace
And graves to desecrate
Where hope strikes nothingness
Full in the face

Where the victim never can be sure
That heart and blood are his, are pure
Fearing the phantoms he conspired
To conjure up, the ones that stay
To laugh at him inside his mind
Demons appear, deny him breath
Too fleeting to be caught and put to death.