Posts tagged ‘refugees’

April 10, 2016

At Idomeni to the village of Chamilo

by Poetry and Literature by Sofia Kioroglou


For a moment I thought
I had found a new home
I was swathed in blankets
and given some food.

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September 17, 2015

~ The Immigrant Child – A Personification

by A. L. O'Prunty

My language not your own

My skin not of your colour

But all have eyes;

These shed rivers of tears

They’ve seen much –

What some call horror stories

Of blood, body parts, heads and hands
I fear closing my eyes

The images invade…as did the bombs

Exploding in my sleepless nights;

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April 16, 2015

Mare Nostrum

by Scott Andrew Bailey

Mare Nostrum
We don’t support it
They said
So it is gone
In other words
Let them die

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January 27, 2013

Queen of refugees

by willowdot21

What made her smile what made her day . What did she see where there was  only waste and dismay. This Queen of refugees what took her mind and made her pleased.

A friend, a lover that she had thought she’d lost? A child even, wars demand such a high cost. Something in this veil of tears relieved her pain and soothed her fears .

From the depths of deep despair she found something, someone for whom she cared. A sudden joy crossed her face and a smile exploded spreading a fall out of pure grace . What did she see what was her gift from God that lightened up this wasteland where starving refugees trod.

That is something we shall never know and I thank God that she had that moments glow. Such regal beauty in her face , may she fair well in God’s good grace.

July 10, 2012


by willowdot21

Tiny little fingers in the dust, huge eyes so sad begging for your crust. You are so hungry you need it for yourself but this is your child, who you can’t deny, true?

Hunger gnawing at your bones like cancer spreading fast. You worry if you’ll be strong enough to find water, as what you have just will not last.

No one is going to help you, your sons and daughters gone for soldiers.These two left will escape that fate as they will not grow much older. Your milk dried up, your belly empty. It hurts so much to walk but walk you must, you can’t stop. The baby at your breast has long since ceased  crying. This sweet young child clinging to your skirt is dying.

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