TO THE REFUGEES

You can cross the border
But you'll have to leave your heart.
It will always be here,
Waiting in the dust for your return,
Bleeding just a little.
You'll live without it,
You'll have to.
Hearts can't learn to beat in a new language.

Yes, you can go.
But certain things will go with you.
The people you left behind will haunt you.
Your memories will stow away
In the back of your mind.
All the things you saw here
Will be waiting behind your eyelids,
And the sound of guns will still be in your ears.

Farewell!
I hope you're happy in your new land
Because, you know, you can't really come back.
You can cross this border,
But it won't be you on the other side.
It will just be another refugee
Plagued by the cries of the dead
Who left his heart bleeding in the dust.

PILGRIM

I am but a poor traveller, restless and weary
Carrying nothing to walk all the faster
Not running away, going nowhere you'd know of
I have no servant, no friend, and no master

I must walk on, though I cannot remember
Where I should be going nor where I have been
For I have no clothes except those I am wearing;
No pillow to lie on; no money to spend

I won't stop for the night; you won't see me by morning
By then I'll be far cross the West-rising hill
If I tire till I drop, I shall rest on a boulder
I'll hug my arms tight if I feel the chill

Farewell, ye good people, so bound by possessions
With money and children as ties to one place
I am but a poor traveller, restless and weary
I have far to go: I must quicken my pace.