To those deprived — Ibrahim Sheme

Many are displaced by
wars. Wars that could be
avoided. Some are vic-
tims of natural disasters. Hungry,
homeless and lonely they trek the
earth’s sandy fields looking for
relief. No matter how long it takes
or how scanty it is, their life de-
pends on it. Such is the plight of
those we have made orphans, in a
world that is much endowed.

To the refugee
Now I aloft on this emotional
hill
Interesting time’s waves — and
waving
Goodbyes to you; how do you feel
As the waves are rising and leaving
At your destiny? Tell me, oh tell me
My dear enchanting, roaming refu-
gee!

Before the judge we once fearfully
stood
Explaining, explaining… Yet
We know it couldn’t be so good
To wed in that hateful state
Oh refugee, when shall you be back
To start counting your grim luck?

Once when the sky was freshly blue
And the stars winking and sailing
Life’s fantasy had seem so true
That we couldn’t realise its failing
Now the hours are passing like beads
On the rosary of the Imam that leads.

As you traverse foreign métropolis
In tears, regretting and sighing
I flit from impossible poles to poles
Unable to measure the depth of thy
crying
Sometimes I lay down like some
nincompoop
In bed wondering why I should be
aloof.

Refugee, I shall visit your stingy
camp
With all the relief aids in my kit
To press on this fate my loving stamp
On your beauty, loyalty and wit

To brighten these dark, unhappy
days
With loving’s balming, pleasing rays.
Ibrahim Sheme