I Left You Turning Into A Refugee, A Poor Small Girl, A Refugee Girl/ The World Calls You A Refugee, But You Not…, My Daughter, Daughter, Small Daughter Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

I Left You Turning Into A Refugee, A Poor Small Girl, A Refugee Girl/ The World Calls You A Refugee, But You Not…, My Daughter, Daughter, Small Daughter



I left you
Turning into
A refugee girl,
Nona but I,
I myself
Am responsible for,
Me and my faith,
Not you,
But me,
Me,
It is me
For turning you
Into a refugee,
A poor refugee girl.

Could not give you
Food,
Could not
Water,
Shelter
And refuge,
But distraught you,
Snatched
Your smiles,
Your laughter,
Your happiness,
My daughter,
Daughter.

A refugee,
Refugee,
Refugee girl
Have you changed into,
A small girl
In a frock
Torn and patched
With the hair
Lying disheveled,
Oilless and untidy,
My daughter,
Daughter,
A refugee,
Refugee girl you.

Now under sun and shower
Stand you
Under the tree shade,
Into the camp,
A refugee,
Refugee girl you,
A refugee,
Refugee girl you
With the tears dried
Into the eyes,
Looking you tearlessly,
Begging for life,
Seeking mercies
To be shown.

In a torn frock,
Oilless and uncombed
Lie you playing,
Seeking food and shelter,
Water and clothes,
A refugee,
Refugee girl you,
Seeking mercies,
Telling of pity and pathos,
With sorrow deep within
Her heart,
A refugee,
Refugee girl she
Under sun and shower.

Leave you the talks of faith,
What it to do with,
There is no religion
Greater than
This humanism,
If I could not be
A lover
Of man,
What it in my faith
And religion,
Humanity first
Then religion,
You my daughter,
Daughter,
O refugee girl,
I cannot let you weep,
Smile you please!

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