Damn my parents
A shrub on her side I was cut.
It is her fault, and dad’s fault.
They fed my enemies with sweet.
Such welcome made them strong.
Enemy took the axe, cut me off.
She cries as mother; I do so as a child.
“Damn you both, ” I tell them.
I, like most refugees,
The Tutsi Africans, Tamils the, Sri Lanka's, and others who have served the masters
And served them, and served them and served them on the lands, in houses, as soldier
In forces; Indians with turbans and without, etcetera…
Include Vietnam…
Am settled,
Grown palm, displaced from home,
Planted far away, lost my past and culture
With no way back or forth, I am forced
I give them sweet dates, making them strong
They remain as they were, the racists, brutal.
They enjoy, I suffer
And still needing food, pretend:
“My thanks for new homeland.”
Who are they on this land but looters, invaders?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
fantastic poem with inner meanings.