Refugee Man

Where is my home? The world tells me the places and feelings that are my home.

  They tell me my home is the house in the land I grew up in and there I should stay. Do they know that house is now a pile of broken walls and shattered windows that bury my mother, father, younger sister and her husband? Do they know my government killed them with many other innocent and one guilty?

  They tell me my home is the heartbeat that is soothed among those I love – my children and love of my life. Little do they know my son died, a victim of a stray bullet. Do they know my daughter’s body is floating somewhere at sea or washed up upon some shore? Do they know my love, my wife is here beside me slowly dying? She caught an illness that is spreading here in the camp of people waiting by the border. I am a medical student, I know she could be saved by a course of antibiotics. So my heartbeat, well-meaning observer, will die soon.

  They tell me many things. They tell me where to go. They tell me what to believe me. They tell me who I am. They tell me where I have been. They tell me they can help me. They tell me over and over.

  I have no dignity left. I am but an animal being herded on roads mapped out by powerful men sitting in a warm cosy room.

  Even the writer of these words has decided who I am. I am but the judgement of what they believe. My life is controlled now by the feelings of ‘they’, of you.
 I ask myself, who am I?


learn to understand


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