4 of 46

by Dea

Stirrers of the Melting Pot
driving the foreign to the rim,
to protect the old brew-
exposed to perish we clung together for safety
on the rim of the Melting Pot.

Like a naked autumn tree
attached to its last shrivelled fruit
we survived the dim light
and the vices of discrimination
on the rim of the Melting Pot.

When pain became conscious
the corners grass dealer
was handy to doctor
my only shrivelled fruit
on the rim of the Melting Pot.

Stirrers of the Melting Pot
who are you to keep the Tree of Life
naked, robbed
deprived of Liberty
on the rim of the Melting Pot?

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Poetry: Watching

by Dea

Poetry: Watching

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