Photo of an Old Refugee

The deeply lined face spoke to me or rather I read it.
I read the pain, the agony, the torture, the haunting.
I identified the rebellion and the acceptance;
I felt the pride and submission.
Life’s spectrum leaped from the black and white;
The eyes small but significant, rheumy but alert, missing nothing, telling less;
The windows of the soul, blinded too the voyeurs of emotion;
A skill bred; evolved, rather than learned.
Knowledge stored and protected, through non-return valves;
Totally secure when young but now, the face betrayed!
The emotions breaking out, escaping into the furrows of mortal film;
Mapping the mountains and valleys of sentiment, the contours of an era;
History well written, closed doors opened undeniably;
The shock of secrets hidden, now exposed, could a thousand vessels flounder!