for the children of the Holocaust, Ukraine and Gaza
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails
when thunder howls
when hailstones scream
when winter scowls
when nights compound dark frosts with snow
where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
by Michael R. Burch
In my opinion, the most important human rights are the human rights of children to grow up without becoming the victims of racism, inequality, injustice, homelessness, malnutrition, starvation or war. I agree with Gandhi, who said that if we want to live in a better world, we need to start with the children.
I'm a refugee
in my own country
I'll never be free
because they've
labelled me
They say I'm far right
And I'm not too bright
Took away free speech
Now it's out of reach
My mother would tell me
as I sat upon her knee
how we had saved the world
from tyranny.
She'd say how great we were
how freedom was our spur
I had no idea this situation
could occur.
I'm a refugee
In my own country
And if I speak out
They'll throw away the key
David Cox 07/09/24
Warming myself in the fire of the sun, why must the soil be so cold?
Listen closely, and I'll show you a story of ancestors I never knew
They had a place like this that they called home, or so I was told
Watch intently; I'll unfold my own fable heard before you like they grew
Down the blackest hole, the richest safety I would know, I began to take hold
Wait patiently; here comes a thin line of green brought by a stream of blue
In good time, don't prop me up now! No trust; I will hold my own crown
You sleep so calmly without remorse in your house for hours eightfold
I've been sweating all night, hoping that morning won't come, only to cut me down
Then you come with hands and fingers, pulling out the nails that held together the place I made anew
Now, I'm just another refugee; controlled by the view you hold
As the war in Ukraine continues,
Millions of refugees flee
with a target on their backs.
They rush down
the few open corridors left,
Looking at their gadgets
for the latest information,
Hoping to live another day.
The refugee organization staff
Try to keep track of their movement
Amid the cracking of the bombs falling.
“
Is This a Way to Live”
“The Innocent”
As warplanes thunder overhead
We rise from our beds
And wonder,
Is this a way to live?
“The Soldier”
As he crouches in a frozen trench
Amidst the falling snow
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Mother”
As she lays to eternal rest
Her little one,
She wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Refugee”
She cannot explain
Her hunger pains
She wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Commander”
How many more
Must I send to their graves
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Priest”
As he prepares the body
For Its journey to the other side
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
When the dust settles,
The warplanes are quieted,
The flowers planted,
We must ask,
Why are we living this way?
Refugees
Not aliens, once citizens
reduced to Stateless beings
Not because of own making
On run as find life simmering
due to anarchy set afire
by mindless Power bearers
Womb of their myopic terror
sans umbilical cord giving birth
to orphan refugees on Mother Earth
Refugees
ignored by
Heartless Progressive tribes
some busy in fun trip to Mars
some listed as Forbes billionaire
some relishing edible gold powder
some using gilted commodes,cars
while refugee families live in fear
in temporary abodes near border
sans food, clothes, clean water
Refugees
ensnared pawn in crossfire
beart brunt, while killers
of Refugee's Nationality
aren't probed, booked, jailed !
Lady Justice stands blindfolded
Scales tilted against Refugees
Sword not chopping cruelty gross
Killers of Refugee's identity
roaming scot-free with impunity
Refugees
man-made menace
pose a great challenge
Society should ensure
none is made to flee
as after effects are grave
Refugee can turn bad apple
rotting full basket of Humanity
shaming HIS Creativity
humiliating HIS Divinity
______________________________
© Dr Hitendra Mehta, India ????
Refugees
Not aliens, once citizens
reduced to Stateless beings
Not because of own making
On run as find life simmering
due to anarchy set afire
by mindless Power bearers
Womb of their myopic terror
sans umbilical cord giving birth
to orphan refugees on Mother Earth
Refugees
ignored by
Heartless Progressive tribes
some busy in fun trip to Mars
some listed as Forbes billionaire
some relishing edible gold powder
some using gilted commodes,cars
while refugee families live in fear
in temporary abodes near border
sans food, clothes, clean water
Refugees
ensnared pawn in crossfire
beart brunt, while killers
of Refugee's Nationality
aren't probed, booked, jailed !
Lady Justice stands blindfolded
Scales tilted against Refugees
Sword not chopping cruelty gross
Killers of Refugee's identity
roaming scot-free with impunity
Refugees
man-made menace
pose a great challenge
Society should ensure
none is made to flee
as after effects are grave
Refugee can turn bad apple
rotting full basket of Humanity
shaming HIS Creativity
humiliating HIS Divinity
______________________________
© Dr Hitendra Mehta, India ????
Means you walk with a mute dignity
And because the touch has a memory, you can no longer make another one,
No sea can reveal to you the joy of its flowing and its every wave is shackled with corpses and identities of drowned people, no land will welcome your shy steps.
To be a refugee
You have to wear a stainless smile in front of their serrated gaze.
You have to get rid of your ancient history,
Your mother's prayer for your safety, which no longer works
The wisdom of your ancestors, which they left to you before they disappeared into their graves.
To be like me,
You have to peel off your skin, pull out your tongue in order to get along with the crowds that are waiting for any slight movement from you to finish you off.
Above you have to be very sane in the streets that know nothing but where madness erupts,
And like swimming in a river of blood, you will remain stained until the end.
Variety is the spice of life
At least that's what they say..
We celebrate different colours
Yet the world still chooses grey
There's room for different flavours
Whether green leaf, pulse or grain
Banana loaf or carrot cake?
Nutrition stays the same
The truth it seems is constant
With the source identified;
Humans - not so different
On this planet we reside
As this year rumbles onwards
I throw love into the mix;
Not to colourise the whole world
Just my local bit to fix
No longer are we separate sides
Of some bridge-less, gaping fissure..
Maybe same-ness is the spice of life
As we share more than we differ.
By taking refuge from myself
I didn't notice the margins of the road
nor the mirages of the desert
Those are my shoes
I keep then neat
To remind of when
I had both feet;
But I am alive
Not like my brother
Nor traumatised
Like my sisters and mother.
I’ve not seen my father
Since that day
They came and took
Us both away.
They said they were fighting
To set us free
But what they did before
They took father and me.
They didn’t tell that all around
They’d scattered mines on the ground.
When I escaped I stood on one
I lost both feet with one leg gone;
But I survived I’m lucky they say
One of the few that got away.
They say with luck
I’ll soon walk
But I don’t believe I’ll ever
Ever ever want to talk.
They are very nice to me here
In this camp,so very kind.
They leave me in peace
To gather my mind.
They are teaching me to write
So maybe one day I can tell
About my life and times
In captives hell.
I won’t go to church
Or sing hymns or pray
They were believers they said
Who took me and father away.
So,I clean my shoes
And keep them neat
To remind of when
I had both feet,
And life was good
And we were free.
And I had all of
My family around me.
Refugee
I caught myself, my bad side. in the mirror
Of someone else’s face. I stopped mocking
No longer thinking it funny and placed my
Feet in the shoes they had to wear.
In my cynical mind it was a comedy
In theirs a moment of indecision, worry.
Go home to a war zone or stay here in safety, no brainer.
But here is not home.
They left: three-day journey by car. Dangerous in itself.
An escape made three months before, as missiles rained
And debris crashed around them. Scrambled essentials
Into a case, picked up the cat, dropped off spare keys.
But there’s nowhere like home compared to the life
Of a refugee.
Easy looking in, do the right thing as if a robot.
Joke about stupidity, as you see it. Life is a tragedy
And I can’t imagine what I’d do if I were a refugee.
David Cox 19/08/22
Zoya sits, now all alone,
just staring through a window pain
to where a pink magnolia blooms
in someone else's garden.
And all her dacha's winter buds
are crushed and tombed in oil and mud
where tank and track has churned
and soldiers on their backs are burned
and seep her garden soil in blood.
Net curtains dim the window pane
but she can count each passing train
seen through the boundary hedge,
and glimpse each combed
and coiffured head
at eight, and half-past nine, and ten,
as Zoya sits upon a bed
and sees them coming home again
at five from Waterloo.
Her curtains flap with icy blasts
damp cushions lie with shards of glass
and where her gentle cats once basked,
dog packs now run her Kyiv street.
Although the hosts are warm, and kind,
Sweet Zoya is now seventy-nine.
Her smile conceals her inner tears,
her loss of ending peaceful years
sat gazing through her bedroom window,
towards her glowing sunflower fields,
her husband still asleep beside her.
Those sun-kissed fields once filled with gold
now soak with soldier's blood,
and all her hopes and dreams of old
have been misunderstood.
Her women and her children flee
as freedom's breath grows faint,
and all the world in tears can see
as evil sheds constraint.
Dark shadows fall on Ukriane's fields,
her streets with rubble strewn.
Her children hide in dark, concealed,
her scattered birds have flown.
Now West towards the setting sun
both child and mother flee.
So shield and shelter as they come
the outcast refugee.
And grant your shade from scorching heat,
give shelter one by one,
until oppression tastes defeat
with love's long battle won.
When he who tramples underfoot
has vanished from their land,
then He to whom this world must look
will take them in His hand.
Yes! He who wrote love's promise book
will bring His promised land.
I am, so you will never win.
I am, so be.
Be, full of hatred,
march to where dictated
and win the battles, so sacred.
Free me of my home,
while the rest debate if,
humanity is involved.
Negotiate for ways that conflicts can be solved,
so each and every side benefits till’ calmed.
Carve up a map and say we have resolved,
until the sun flies again and falls towards the dawn.
Let me be a pawn,
in the politics we adore.
Entertain with colors,
until they reach your door.
Speak, fight and do so loudly,
represent your side, all too proudly,
so that writers immortalize the days of how, we,
wrote another chapter in this book of war.
I am, so you will never win.
Be, as we all lost.
Related Poems