The sea returned to the land what it did not want to keep for itself,
The sea washed its salty hands off this burden too heavy.
The sea was unforgiving, ruthlessly tossing over the boat,
That dared to float its feeble dreams on its angry waters.
The sea roared- ‘I am free; I am power; this is my home.’
But for a tiny dinghy adrift with people with no tomorrows,
A powerless captivity was all they had.
There is no home- there used to be once.
A home- with lives lived amidst warm walls, stashed cupboards and clanking utensils;
With the smell of books and babies;
With the taste of love in sweet open mouths;
With the sounds of familiar breathing of a love lying next to you.
So much is left behind in those empty houses that now carry the stench of abandoned hope.
Their inhabitants have left long ago for lands that will never want them there;
But treat them as a compromise to be relegated to grimy stark ghettos on the outskirts of dignified living;
All this for the people who control lives from behind shut doors and closed minds.
The land abandoned them- ‘No home for you,’ it declared;
‘Go build your fragile shelters elsewhere in vain,
Dare to build your dreams from the ash and rubble of bloodfires;’
And it smirked- ‘Phoenixes are picture book fiction remember.’
The sea returned to the land what it refused to claim for its own.
Refugees by land and water;
Refugees by compulsion not choice;
Refugees in life and even in death;
As the sea washes up the lifeless body of a toddler it refuses to claim as its own.
<a href=”http://www.blogadda.com” title=”Visit blogadda.com to discover Indian blogs”> <img src=”http://www.blogadda.com/images/blogadda.png” width=”80″ height=”15″ border=”0″ alt=”Visit blogadda.com to discover Indian blogs” /></a>