Refugees Poems

I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
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Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
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It takes a lot of a person's life
To be French, or English, or American
Or Italian. And to be at any age. To live at any certain time.
The Polish-born resident of Manhattan is not merely a representative of
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Millions were dead; everybody was innocent.
I stayed in my room. The President
Spoke of war as of a magic love potion.
My eyes were opened in astonishment.
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no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
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A sacred hand towards the poor,
A golden heart for the invalids,
A heavenly smile for the refugees….
O Mother,
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Have you tried to find clothes for others
than for your own self?
Have you tried to give food to others
than to feed your own self?
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I -- A Pleasant Afternoon

for Michael Brownstein and Dick Gallup
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(Lines written spontaneously after seeing the photo of the body of a little Syrian boy washed up on the beach of Bodrum, a Turkish resort town, as the family were trying to escape by boat to Greece. Tragedy of the 5 year old Syrian Civil War.3rd September 2015)

The little boy
(A Kurdish toddler
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Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
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Astonished I'm! No! World is distinct book
of deaths! Book of lives, of a child,
of a woman, of a man, of human.
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Government against the governed
Faith against faith
Brother betrays brother
Friend betrays friend
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In the shabby train no seat is vacant.
The child in the ripped mask
Sprawls undisturbed in the waste
Of the smashed compartment. Is their calm extravagant?
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Be there as the highest peak
Not essentially to differ
Not eventually to conjure
Be there as a genuine will
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From the dark arenas of violence,
From the shackles of oppression,
From a land reeking of the smell of blood
They flee, bloodied and bruised.
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A Lazy And Simple Poem About God and The Moon
Do not laugh please, this poem is meant for my dearest Vinhie

tonight the moon promised me to appear in full dot
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She was not yet really 'known' -
but asked to read by this small group
of older Jewish refugees and eager youngsters,
talent destined for a fame,
...

One sleepy summer afternoon, while helping
myself to a glass of chilled water, I saw a
snake lying curled under the fridge. It could
have been a very poisonous cobra.
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Words are like unicorns –
come from nowhere
without any one’s permission or request
because there’s a need for them.
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Sad, that we hate the refugee
If through Gods eyes we could only see,
They too are his sons and daughters
Sadly, they're not as rich as the Yachters.
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By Stanley Collymore

That Black Watch, paratrooper's
actions were simply irrefutably
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Sad testimonies worth crying
Starving bellies with drying throats
Large liquid eyes; sad and contemplative that always seem to burn dim,
Especially when politicians compete to come and deliver their empty promises
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Racist Thoughts

1. The BBC
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The Refugees
The west was a result of its constant interference and war in the middle east
has created the refugee problem we see in Poland.
two autocracies, one is Poland sliding into a fascist state
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Mirages that entice ensnare. Refugees devour glassy granules.
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More to know about the refugees! ! ! We are refugees on earth! ! Muse of mankind on earth! Moving around the globe! In search of a place called home;

Only to see fire! Fire! ! Fire! ! ! In Lesbos! Moria is burning! ! ! ! Who will save the refugees? ! Many years camped together at a place in Greece! ! ! ! Oh Moria!
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Syria crying child
you need to hide
reality is sad in Syria
Indecently destroyed by Israel
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Indeed heart wrenching,
our TV stations show the greatest dispair almost everyday
and this happened just a few miles from our country.
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