Fenced away from the springtime.

A refugee’s story.

Usually, we lock away the things that are precious.

When does a man willingly become livestock?
when he fears the climate change of war.



In the beginning, the temperate lands,
rich with clans and history,
were a mother's bosom.




A blind, gasping summer
falls to one knee
even as it leaves the springtime
and turns to lava,
with a dark, cratered path
for his escape.

He can smell the battle
hear the drone of machines
under guns
picture limbs, whole bodies falling
into the open day

How many times has the sun stumbled onto
this slaughter? This crawl for peace between the bloodstained Scylla and Charybdis of murder?

Anyone in his right mind
would hope for rain,
quiet, realistic.
Abundant.




He had taught his
children the virtue of solidarity.

But solidarity, dying of hunger, leads toward the kill
or does a directionless dance of panic
then runs away.







The fall sounds and smells burnt.
Ash sits like snow on an icecap.
He is the proud owner
of a grand city of ash.


Turn to dust,
or turn to water...
that year, the dry season
offered a choice.


Leaky and graceless,
the landing
settles, still and silent,
ears ringing,
living worse than his animals,
his hands
of a different colour
fenced away from the springtime.

Author's Note

What a sub-Saharan refugee might face on his journey to any country in Europe.

Inspired by Ms Warsan Shire’s poem ‘Home’, showing the refugee crisis through a different lens.

Written awhile ago.

Be gentle, or do me the courtesy of moving on. :):)

V

Reviews

[Wild Rose]

Thank you - my simple mind didn't take the first or second reading
We see the line of refugees on our screens from our warm rooms

No sound or smell for our senses to make it feel real life > only pictures on TV

I often think "What must it be like - to have lost everything"
"Only that you can carry"
"How long are you able to continue to carry"
"They set out in their best of clothes - soon to be dirtied worn out"
"What is to become ----- ???????????????"

[Verse]

Excellent point... they leave home in their best, only to find themselves in tatters before long.read moreExcellent point... they leave home in their best, only to find themselves in tatters before long.

Thanks for attempting to scale my poetic mountain. It can be hard to gain a foothold when the issue is this complex and emotionally charged. The free verse style with abstract word choices and placements may not be what you’re looking for, I get it. But this has opened you up to a new poetic style, I hope! :):)

V

[barleygirl]

I feel distant from the exodus you mention, but we've got the central american exodus to the USA which could be described in similar ways. Your writing is powerful in an understated way that keeps me guessing as I read. Many times the worst things can be described more simply, not going for drama, but trusting your material, as you've done. Your imagery is very unique & fresh. I'm sorry I haven't come across you before now becuz I love your writing (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Suhd]

It's so touching... This topic surely needs to dealt with seriously. You have done a fine job by painting with dull colors the desolate world of a refugee.

[Neville]

This is a great write and true... you have chosen words well and constructed a powerful and meaningful poem that say'it like it is.... My daughter has just returned from Calais where she spent her annual leave volunteering and ministering to the refugees and asylum seekers at what was known as 'The Jungle' part of which is now called 'Old Lidl' and Verrottierre & Little Forest.............. Nice one V........ Neville

[Verse]

Oh, bless ya, Neville! Of course she did. :):)

This poem came from another much more famous poet named Warsan Shire. She was the first poet laureate of the City of London, and the child of Somali refugees. Her poem, Home, is something to read and just ignited a spark, I guess.

All to say ta for reading all the way to the end! I should have free beers waiting there or something...

V

[Neville]

Blimey, even more special... suba howanax.. or something like that.. most probably spelt wrong, but at least I can pronounce it.... Neville x

[Verse]

Wonderful. :):)

[Neville]

Bless ya.... N

[θεά]

An important, timely write. Perhaps one of your best, that I have read so far. The anguish of seeing the subhuman treatment of refugees in the hands of those entitled is beyond measure. Whom will they answer to when their conscience is dead? When will this end? Is there no one who can help them? Or has God forsaken His lesser mortals?

Answers to these questions will plague us until we see the rise of a messiah- if one were to endorse the millenarian faith.

Best,
M.

[Verse]

Thank you, dear Mallika, and smiles to you! I wrote this one some time ago, in honour of Warsan Shire’s poem Home.

This travesty always makes me think of worth, and wealth, how much distance should be placed between the two, and how unreliable these are as metrics of human spirit. As to whether or not God is listening or will come again to redress these injustices, I choose to believe that He will, and that an all-knowing and all powerful God is a loving one as well.

Thanks for the visit! Now that I know your preferred poetic style, I’ll bear that in mind as I look back at things I might consider posting here.

V

[Chris Shaw]

"He is the proud owner
of a grand city of ash"

Those words really resonated. Unimaginable to lose everything and have to flee and hope that you are not moving from one war zone to another area of conflict where you aren't welcome. We see the masses on the move but we don't often hear the individual stories behind the faces. I liked the perspective you put on the write. How can you possibly fail to be sympathetic towards their plight. Your lines conveyed well Verse.

Chris

[Verse]

Oh, thanks so much, Chris! Smiles to you. I had never really thought about refugee issues until a few years ago, when people started flooding Europe from the north of Africa. Some years ago, I used to live in Europe, and so I can imagine the local perspective in some countries. The thing that no one seems to realize is that it’s dirty and incomprehensible but somehow justified, until it happens to you.

Grateful for the wonder of you. :):)

V

[Flowers of Eternity]

I can imagine the scenery that you have wonderfully written...
If you ask me, It's a very beautiful poem!!
And very true to life as well..
Good job!

[Verse]

Thanks so much, Eternity!!! I wanted to show the beauty and the brutality of people, and my sense is that you get it. :):)

V