The Refugees

Blood for a Stranger (1942)

In the shabby train no seat is vacant.The child in the ripped maskSprawls undisturbed in the wasteOf the smashed compartment. Is their calm extravagant?They had faces and lives like you. What was it they possessedThat they were willing to trade for this?The dried blood sparkles along the maskOf the child who yesterday possessedA country welcomer than this.Did he? All night into the wasteThe train moves silently. The faces are vacant.Have none of them found the cost extravagant?How could they? They gave what they possessed.Here all the purses are vacant.And what else could satisfy the extravagantTears and wish of the child but this?Impose its cancelling terrible maskOn the days and faces and lives they waste?What else are their lives but a journey to the vacantSatisfaction of death? And the maskThey wear tonight through their wasteIs death’s rehearsal. Is it really extravagantTo read in their faces: What is there we possessedThat we were unwilling to trade for this?

Blood for a Stranger (1942)