What does it mean to be violently displaced? Your roots cut.
To become nameless; faceless as you blend into a sea of faces
around you. What does it mean that your home is no longer safe?
That your savings have evaporated, your job vanished,
your house flattened, your family killed? What does it mean
to walk a thousand miles, cross borders, and take refuge?
Memories vanish as you struggle to stay alive at dark.
Being stuffed in camps, living under tents…
Indefinitely postponing your medical needs.
No phone calls to make or emails to send.
No papers to read or news to watch.
You are the headline; the show others are watching.
What does it mean to survive a war? To be denied entry?
Turned down, refused, rejected once more? I don’t know.
I wish to never know. I can’t even ask a refugee to tell me.
If you are angry, I understand. If you hate me, I understand.
Bureaucrats at the borders, in consulates, parliaments,
and some protesting on the streets may not let you in.
I will do my best to change that. Until then, I will think of you.
