I’m Still Waiting

Ms.Akshra Ramky brings us a poem that paints a picture of the devastation in a war zone, and the limbo a refugee is suspended in.

 

The building that held the ancestor’s gold

Now lay like broken pots unsold 

The school that made new thoughts 

Now lay among chamberpots 

The arch that looked over a hundred ships 

Now melted down to its wooden chips 

The home of the divine 

Now broken like your dreams and mine 

The lake, a whole new world 

Now overflowing with love untold 

 

The eyes that held a thousand dreams

Now the subject of countless nightmares 

The hands that guided me through life 

Now guide the way to hell 

The lips that broke hearts 

Now fail to break the eerie silence 

The feet that carried the wild and free 

Now carry agony and debris 

The bell that chimed the Husband’s return

Now lay speechless and broken alongside the owner 

The voices that made the blood boil 

Now choke and splutter on it 

 

The death, the devastation

How I wish it were in my head

Along with roses and honey and bread 

 

The chaos and the slow dying laughter

Replaced by lullabies and a kiss after 

The burnt flesh and the chafed skin

Replaced by chocolates and petty sin 

The blinding flares and the chasing man 

Replaced by the bicycle and the chasing man 

The bullets and guns 

Replaced by cookies and cream buns 

The sorrow, the undying sorrow

Replaced by hope of a tomorrow 

 

The death, the devastation

How I wish it were in my head

Along with roses and honey and bread 

 

 

I’ll wait for the day I realise 

 

 

Everything’s the same, the truth and the lies 

I’ll wait for the day I realise 

To ignore the sweet words and the advice 

I’ll wait for the day I realise 

The biggest lie of all 

Is the hope of paradise 

-Akshra Ramky

 

Are We There Yet?

Aadharsh M, a student of Amrita School of Engineering, Coimbatore, weaves a haunting tale of the hope for a better place and life held by families fleeing their homes.

This poem is about a family. 

A father, a mother, a son and a daughter. 

 

 Not a sitcom or a soap opera. 

Murder, despair and slaughter. 

 

“Never forget who you are 

And wear it like an armor” said Tyrion. 

A Military armor irrespective of the donning color, 

Will always be unforgettable for a fleeing Syrian. 

 

 Such was the case of this family. 

They were leaving behind their friends, job and their house. 

The father had to carry his son and his daughter 

Sometimes even his 6 months pregnant spouse. 

 

About the daughter. 

She wanted to become the best dancer in the land. 

Air strikes in her school 

Left her with only one leg to stand. 

 

 

 

She had the same dreams as any girl would have 

But the sorrows have eclipsed them and has cut deep. 

She couldn’t have a literal dream as all she could see 

 

 

Was her amputated leg when she closed her eyes to sleep. 

 

The son was the epitome of innocence. 

He was only 6 years old. 

He was going to a better place with his family. 

Or at least so he was told. 

 

He kept blowing into his parents’ eyes. 

He thought dust was the reason for it being red. 

They were wiping away tears because they couldn’t tell him 

That his friends, teachers and even his puppies were all dead. 

 

The Mother was an elegant lady. 

She now felt like a burden to planet Earth. 

Human trafficking and sex slavery. 

No idea who the father is to the child she is to give birth. 

 

 

 

Her husband smuggled her from their clutches 

And that’s when they started to flee. 

They have reached the refugee camps now 

Confined within fences and told that they’re now free 

 

 

 

The father was the family’s everything. 

He was their Man of Steel. 

He has to pull his family through 

To be there for them, his own needs he had to seal. 

  

His only option was to survive in the camp until the borders were 

opened. 

The camps they were in was nothing different from Syria being a wreck. 

He had to convince his children to eat and maybe to smile 

And his wife to stop trying to hang from a tree with a rope around her 

neck. 

 

Now four months into the refugee camp, 

Even Prisoners will have more of their requirements met. 

The father’s heart broke into pieces when his now anorexic son 

Uttered his last words, “The better place, Abba? Are we there yet?” 

To Feel Desperate and Lost

Ms.Meenakshi Viswanathan expresses two emotions that are at the forefront of the refugee expression, through poetry.

Desperation 

Wishing for a torrential rain, 

Hoping the heavenly tears will ease the pain; 

So much blood is shed, 

As tiny pieces of our hearts lie dead; 

For what purpose do we fight? 

To show the world our true might? 

To what end are we striving? 

Is pride worth more than living? 

There is no such thing as winning, 

Only the hounds of hell singing; 

Maybe we are fighting for something greater, 

Even when our lives are shattered; 

It must be a need for salvation, 

Born from a hidden desperation…. 

 

Lost 

I am so lost,  

Yet I continue to walk, 

I don’t know where I go, 

For it is much too dark, 

I stumble along,  

A jagged path, 

Hoping the end,  

Is not that far. 

 

I’ll travel along, 

A thousand miles, 

Just to see,  

A flicker of light; 

My heart is terrified,  

For what might happen; 

I quiver with fear, 

For I am still trapped here; 

Will I forever be lost? 

In here breathe my last? 

I still am so lost, 

Yet I continue to walk… 

Somewhere Above the Stars

Niveditha Swaminathan brings to you a heart wrenching anecdote from the point of view of a Syrian school boy. 

 

It was a Tuesday morning like any other. Little did 16-year-old Samer know that his life was about to change forever.

He got dressed for school and went downstairs. It was a familiar sight.Everyday, as he climbed down those stairs, he could see his mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen and his baby sister playing with her stuffed blue panda.

School was a few blocks away from home. Even as he walked towards his school, Samer could see his house, the largest one on the street.

He’d heard about a civil war going on in the country. His family lived in one of the safest cities and although he was assured by his parents that they were safe, deep down, he was scared. The sight of the large white house, visible from the window of his classroom, calmed him.

That fateful Tuesday afternoon, Samer looked out the window and saw his house. Moments later, all he could see was a fiery eruption of light. The explosion was followed by an overwhelming blast of sound. A mushroom cloud of fire rose into the sky. He didn’t realize what had happened until it was over and as soon as he did, his world came crashing down. Even as the teacher signaled everyone to calm down, Samer rushed out of his classroom.

The road which once led him home from school was covered in dust and debris. The acrid smoke irritated his eyes and blurred his vision and the smell of burnt flesh made him feel nauseated. Although people were shrieking in panic and crying , a deafening silence engulfed Samer. He was hoping against hope that they weren’t at home, that they were somehow given a warning and they made it out in time or his mother took his sister for a stroll in the park.

Tears came rolling down his cheeks as he ran into his father’s arms, who had rushed from his clinic as soon as heard about the blast. Samer couldn’t imagine what he would’ve done had his father also stayed at home that day. They saw a woman’s body being carried out of the rubble. What he saw next confirmed his worst fears. In the woman’s hand was what once used to be a stuffed blue panda.

As a child, Samer had recurring nightmares. His parents told him that if he remembered that he could always wake up from them, they were nothing to be afraid of. As an imaginative 7-year-old boy, he always felt that there was a nightmare waiting for him, one that he wouldn’t be able to wake up from. This was it. The house he grew up in, was reduced to rubble. His mother’s beautiful face was injured beyond recognition. His baby sister, who spoke her first word a few weeks ago, didn’t even live to learn her brother’s name. One explosion robbed them of everything.

Father and son stood holding hands, not knowing that in a few days they would travel miles away to another country, not knowing that once there, they would be looked at as a threat rather than as victims, not knowing that they’ve lost not only their past, but also their future.

Somewhere above the stars, a little hand clutched a stuffed blue panda and for the first time, the child said, ‘Samer’.

Read more, by Niveditha, at her blog: https://everythingunderthesonne.wordpress.com/