I am the Poet Refugee Now living in a world of Prose Accepted yes to some degree But never quite sure of my role.
Should I be the way I was made Speaking in metaphor and rhyme Or must I give in to the page Ruled by its adherence to lines?
May I speak out in an attempt To urge us to be reconciled? We Poets offer no dissent To justify being so defiled
Always to be read with a sneer Not given the due we are owed That whenever a Poet is near Truth will be camouflaged with code.
Ever to be judged out of turn An object of pity and fun Looked down at with frequent concern Poems may be suicide bombs.
You want Poets locked up in books Kept in churches not out of doors But that is where logic gets stuck In the fight of rhythm and words.
We're the same Poets and Writers We both say what needs to be said Both to ourselves and to others Without us meaning would be dead
Without us there would be no songs Graffiti to make Peace not War And it really wouldn't take long To wonder what Language was for.
I wanted to write about refugees and immigrants, although I am not one. I wanted to write about being a poet who isn't mainstream or modern, on the outside? Why is poetry still a novelty in this world?