No-one knows
whose turn it will be tomorrow.
The skies above the refugee camp are grey.
Dreams hastily scrawled on the walls.

Beneath the slogans'
the children from the city
play their game.
Death.

No-one knows, no-one knows.

The heroes of today are announced
dead
on the evening news.
Ordinary people make the headlines
for a few seconds,
only to vanish
without a trace
in the current
of another day's events.

No-one knows, no-one knows.

But I know that tomorrow's victims
will bring a new dawn
closer.
No-one knows.

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