Mr. Donald Trump Must Help Syrian Refugees! Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

Happy Birthday to me
If ever I want to ask
a gift for myself
I would ask it from Mr. Donald Trump;
No greater gift will ever
comfort my heart
than to see those
old fathers and mothers,
those young sons and daughters
those agonized brothers and sisters
go back to their homeland
and breathe the fresh air
that will fill their lungs with freshness
just as it did when they were born
amidst those arms that held them,
kissed them and nurtured them
in their own land
so that they grow and live
in endless joy and vigor;
how desperately they now stand and beg
by those street lights and at crossings,
how much in anguish they sleep
in those camps and in openness
as no enough houses to shelter them;
too cold are their feet
too frozen are their memories
and though in the race of survival
they have touched any shore or land,
there is none in this world
who would not like to go home.
O' President Elect Mr. Trump
from afar here I ask you a gift
a gift not for myself
but a gift for the people of Syria
return their peace
rebuild their homes
revive their love
for you are the only one
who is capable of this
lest they dwindle their hope
as on the streets
they stand to beg
overlooking their own self respect;
what greater dignity
does humanity hold
if they cannot live
by holding their heads upright,
O' Mr. Trump
give me this gift I ask you
as I have seen Syrian families,
mothers and daughters
begging on the streets of Paris
just yesterday and they will continue to do so
if you fail to help them
if you fail to give me this gift I ask you.