The Refugee

Running from an economy full of hate hunger will place him behind bars unless he relocates war and crisis lingering with the hope to end soon have pocketed young lives since five bloody Junes a new home is the dream where kindness isn’t dormant and challenges of life, soft and not adamant reality of a visa will be in the next September a time, the grave will add him to its number the territories of the waters have no love risk is never straight, always a painful curve a space in the traveller’s harbour, sent is the request paying in full, survival by all means, a conquest every wave of the ocean, death teases tossing the fragile boat as it pleases, risk is watered, its grasses are green a hundred and seventy four displayed on its screen landing at the border, safe and unscratched his painful stories on his head attach moving into camps, acceptance is not immediate not a problem, since from hell, he has learnt to integrate.