Kuda Bondamakara


The Tears of an Illegal Immigrant


In the detention centres of the queen’s kingdom;
There we sat down, yea, we wept;
When we thought of home.
And we sang a sweet song of freedom;
Whose echoes reverberated;
Within the corridors of captivity.

We were detached from the outside world.
Yes, tall walls girded with barbed wire prisoned us.
Gun totting wardens monitored our very movements.
And everything had a programmed time, even toilet visits.
We were broken and carried little conviction;
So we sat down, yea, we wept.

Day and night they humiliated us, called us criminals.
They restricted our liberties;
We were not human but animals;
Not because we had done anything wrong;
But because we had run away from tyranny;
So we sat down, yea, we wept.

They barred us from seeing our beloved
They stopped us from earning an honest living
They stopped us from matrimonial unions.
Even the married were denied conjugal privileges.
And when we felt hopeless and desperate;
We sat down, yea, we wept.

We stayed resolute, not because we considered our cause strong;
If that had been so, who wouldn’t have breathed his last?
But we only thought of home.
Yes, we longed a day when we would go home and be free;
And see our children; play in the rain, with the mud;
And our women, plate their hair and gossip;
So we sat down, ye, we wept.

Submitted: Friday, February 14, 2014

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