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Wednesday, 7 September 2011

THE GAP BETWEEN OUTSTRETCHED HANDS

I heard about a refugee walking away from his home,
fleeing with hundreds of others to wherever the road led,
when he saw a child hurt in a ditch and weakened at her yelp,
pleading for someone to notice, crying out for anyone to help.


Trying to stand still in the slow-slick of human weariness,
the man was in more than two minds, momentarily focused
on this small human object. Locked in their stare, breath with breath,
the gap between outstretched hands deciding his life or her death.

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