My thoughts cry
at seeing and hearing the people
on terraces, the ferry and the news

I cry for wars that are never over
for the survivors and the witnesses around
the corner, who lived past the violence
and have not seen any dead people

that are also not over for their children
immaculate, innocent, naive
who claim
heaven on earth

which fails to happen, even though
those people shout toughly afraid
how great their heroes are
their nation, their past and future

and they shout who does not belong
who must leave
their right
or be held back

with fences and the hard way
of guns and starvation
in no-man's-land