Our flat

In our flat
faces speak
of places across the sea.

In our flat
voices walk in
talking, but not like me.

In our flat
books fly around us
saying, 'Never stop saying “Why?”.'

In our flat
stories stroke us
until we cry.

In our flat,
there was a mother and father
who were born so poor
they told us:
even if we now have more
no one is worse than you;
things could be fair
if we learned how to share,
and they sang a sweet song
that said war is wrong.

Find out what's possible, they said.
Find out what's possible.
Find out what's possible, they said.
Find out what's possible.