In the quiet early hours of the day I pour myself a cup of coffee And through my bleary swollen eyes I catch up to what has unfurled In the world as I have slept I see images of crumbling buildings in war torn zones And children with missing limbs I see people buried under rubble And the displaced living in tents I see mothers clutching tiny shrouds And orphans calling their parents’ name I see…
Poem: My morning cup of coffee
