Those Homes

in the small patch of land

between the coconut grove and the barbed wire wall

they had lived, those who had built my home

and when the work was done

had lost theirs

they had gone

from my balcony, I had seen rubble
where their homes used to be
where life had been lived

and for some days and nights

the silence had spoken in their voices

years went by and I never knew when

weeds and  grass relentlessly

took over the little patch of land

and try as I might, I can no longer find

a single memento

of those homes and those who had lived in them

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