The sand underneath his feet is warm-
the sun shines in an empty sky
with the sea, as blue as the playdough
he had as a child

The sea, now resting was once furious-
the wind tormented it for hours
hours that he would always remember
when the wind laughed in his ears
and possessed the boat

As he looks at the sea tears rain from his eyes
the memory of seeing others like him
grabbed by the wind
tossed, shoved, pulled, pushed, before being thrown
and swallowed by the raging sea

now he stands on the shore on the beach
the view is similar to home- but not quite
he stands in a foreign land, with nothing
except his shoes and rags for clothes-
and he holds a baby, but not his.