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अपनी माटी पुकारे मुझको
यहा रोटी पानी मारे मुझको
चले काफ़िला मेरे भायों का
हम आंदोलन के लिए मजबूर
ये प्रदेश नहीं सवदेश मेरा
मुजे जाना है अभी दूर
मुझे जाना है अभी दूर

मेरी आपनी सरकारें झूठी हैं
क्या एतबार करूं मै गैरों पर
अगर मिलता काम मेरे देस में
ना चलना पड़ता पैरों पर

मजदूरी की मजबूरी में
पिसना है मेरा दस्तूर
मुझे जान है अभी दूर
मुझे जाना है अभी दूर

कई सपने लेकर आया था
कई यादें लेकर जाऊंगा
जो दर्द अपनों ने सहा है
वह भूल कभी ना पाऊंगा

लाठी हमें दिखाओगे
यह पहली बार की बात नहीं
सहता में आया हूं
क्या तुमको यह याद नहीं

इस बार नहीं रोक पाओगे
मर जाए चाहे जरूर
मुझे जाना है अभी दूर
मुझे जाना है अभी दूर

- जसदीप सिंह
These are dedicated to the hardships of migrant workers in India
Peter Balkus Sep 2019
The say: "Without you all
the world would be a better place.
No dead bodies washed out on the shore.
No guilt of those who failed to help."

They hate us,
they wish we didn't exist,
they shout "Go to hell! You **** of the world!".

They say they won't help us,
it's impossible to help us all.

But when they see a sinking boat
capsizing under our weight,
something tells them to send the patrols
and bring us safely to the shore.
Yuki Jun 2019
To all the people who
leave their homeland
to escape from their lives
unaware that they
won’t make it alive
on the other side,
oblivious to the horrific
idea that they will
scream and cry
while watching their
babies drown and die:
may the waves carry you
in a better world
than the one in which
we are living now.
kie Dec 2018
are like some people,
they are victimized to death
within one's palm
they're taken down and thrown

they had power
but no more
human eyes show pity
for picking them,
but not humanity

pressed flowers are they
who sleep under the tents,
walking for decades,
searching for new hope
cause it's crumbled back home.
Maaz Dec 2018
Stand on graves and cast out the helpless.
They arrive in waves to the illusion of hope.
A 'caravan' of people,
All begging for freedom,
But fear not,
They shall be murdered
for they are evil.

How can they expect asylum, safety & security,
from a land built on death?
Where those in power face no scrutiny.
Where an orange haired buffoon can thrive & prosper,
But mothers & fathers cannot afford a doctor.

Yet still these people come here seeking a better life and
how dare they do?
With hands calloused from hard work,
hearts filled with grief,
spirits filled with belief;
Don’t they know?

This is a land built out of the flesh of martyrs,
On a charter that helps oppress its own population,
A country that thrives off devastation.
A sociopathic society
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
Vinnie had the confidence of a roman statue.  His emerald-isle-fiery-red-hair belied a family heritage that had emigrated to The Promised Land from Northern Italy, not Northern Ireland.  What few friends he had called him “Little Red Ferrari” or LRF for his fiery red temper and uber-ancestral pride.  

Tonight’s rain in Freedomville meant wintrymix.  Vinnie had just been 86’d from the German Brauhaus and now LRF was driving his Pontiac Aztec home at wintrymix+.08 speed,  Statue of Liberty proudly gorilla-glued to his dashboard.  

His mind couldn’t quite process the dark wretched masses to be a family out walking the road at this hour in these tempest-tossed conditions.  He pulled over, flashers blinking, lamps high.  The golden door of his Aztec opened, LRF-adrenaline pumping. What were they thinking?

“Sir, we are hungry,” (señor, we are hong-ree), the man said as wintrymix pelted them. The children—smiled?

What are they thinking/doing, in some human way, suddenly felt like nonsense.  These poor huddled people in freezing-wet clothing were here, hong-ree.

Vinnie’s mind saw his own pride in them.  What courage! This man’s people built pyramids!

“Vieni qui,” Vinnie said in Italian pointing to the Aztec hoping it was close enough.  It was close enough.
Flash fiction entry to Plazm Magazine contest, "Opposite of Hate."  Winning the contest is not the point.  As writers, contribution to the higher purpose is our reward.  Participation our Victory.
Peter Balkus Sep 2018
Small, inflatable dingy
is a very popular thingy
K Balachandran Feb 2018
a fast moving cloud,
soon becomes a flock of birds;
migrants in frenzy!
Peter Balkus Feb 2018
How beautiful would be the sea
without these dots of human lives?

Let's leave them there,
it's wrong, I know,
it breaks my heart,
it breaks
I can't believe my own words.
It's not me who is saying this,
it's someone else.

No, it's me.

you do things you'd never do,
if you weren't here,
if you weren't you.

Let them drown,
let them rest in Peace,
for this place
is the worst to be.

how beautiful would be the sea
without these dots of dying life?

How beautiful would be this world
without us,
who let them die.
The poem was inspired by the news that "Italian Coast Guard let dozens of refugees drown" (Independent, 8.05.2017)
Peter Balkus Oct 2017
There's a country where live
people who don't have their own place.
They travelled the world and never reached
their destination.

They were exiled, misplaced, not admitted
anywhere, drowned in their tiny boats,
shot by steel hearted guards.

There's a country, no one knows about,
like an island somewhere
in the middle of ocean,
yet never found.

Nothing is strange about this country,
except that it exists.

We all one day will arrive there,
it's the matter of time.
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