Let the Ashes Speak
You, yes, you who train your eyes to be shockproof
see so many unburied dead rotting everywhere.
to get across bullet-strewn lands, mine-punctuated waters
say, Don’t look here. Art’s fine refinements are elsewhere.
You always get your ears to listen to those who never
set to music children’s cries on hungry nights
and the rain falling on camps’ tattered plastic.
If curious by chance, you ask the refugees, they
say, Don’t ask for answers anymore. Let the ashes speak.
Read more of Sofiul Azam’s poetry.
Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.
Photo by Mark Hyre/Flickr