What's in this city?
What brought you all?

Is it what you see,
That sent the call?

You must be so careful,
I do decree
-
For what you see
Is nothing.
Really.

Intimidated by political thugs
Prone to insert in one's mouth
The nose of a loaded gun
Or suspend a plastic bottle full of water
On males' reproductive *****,
Devoid of freedom of expression
Also denied  to his right and
Deplorable condition drawing attention
Shunning his God chosen land,
What is more a bright and warm country
Under the sun ,a journalist dreaming began
Fighting all odds between
The deep blue sea and the angry Satan
To migrate to a better place,
Where for democracy
Avowedly there is a better space,
Inhabited by civilized people,
Averse to discrimination based on race!

Burning his boat,
Crossing desserts,
Crammed with other refugees,
Packed with him in a boat
Some trying  to reverse
Their economic lot,
Surfing uncharted waters
Seeking a paradise on earth
He headed to the country he sought
Though some their lives
At the hand of brutal traffickers lost
Beaten and thrown out of the boat,
Also at a port
Suspected of a terrorist bent
Many migrants to prisons were sent.

After a humiliating acid test
Why for a dreamland his country he left
As migrants' bane
They placed him at the foot
Of an ice-clad mountain.
“I will never see
My country again,
You are trying my patience in vain!"
He vowed
Despite the razor-sharp cold untold.

Then they took him up higher
An epitome to a cold fire!
Once more
He put his foot down
Putting on more clothes and
Changing attire.

They placed him
At the mountain's helm
As hell dark
Where the angel of death
Is seen stark.

Then in his head
Something began to bark
“*You rather choose
the better evil
If both your assailants and hosts
Are no two different devil! *"

Seeing first hand
Those with cold shoulder
Assylem seekers adore to attack
Though there are
Few not off humanity's track
At last he decided to return back
And under his country's sun bask
Mum for his rights to ask
Killing his journalistic knack!

Petite arctic terns
navigate the sky
on epic migration
wings clocking
45,000 miles each year

it seems they know
how to go
with the flow
by thumbing a lift
on atmospheric airways

that crisscross the planet
adding thousands of
seemingly needless miles
to an already
arduous journey

flocks congregate
in open ocean
to rest and fuel up
on fish and krill
for the last push home

these tenacious birds
understand
the cliché
it's all about
the journey

they synchronize
with invisible currents
because to beat
into the wind
is a futile expenditure

they pause
in community
to re-energize and feed
on unfathomable
bounty

four ounces
of feather
and hollow bone
instinctively holds
these truths

there is much
to be learned
from an
arctic
tern.

I was grieving in September
I felt loss
the sky was empty
without summers abundance of life
there will be no more aerial displays
swooping birds on the airstream
feasting on unaware flies overly engaged in their own ceremonies of the sky
high spirited flight, with purpose such a magnificent sight
I was grieving in September
for the swallows had gone
left for another’s warmth
another’s ability to provide
but they will return
they always do
to the white cracked home
in need of repair from winters effect
together making the home as new
and bringing new life to celebrate
and I will watch in awe
as they learn the sky dance of their parents
these thoughts
And the promise of their return
keeps me warm
as I settle into winters cold

A summer of discontent
Uprooted families swap a bombed house for tent.

A summer of disbelief.
Acts of terror but where is the relief?

A summer of turmoil.
Mass migration not safe on home soil.

A summer of confusion.
Gangs, traffickers, corruption collusion.

A summer of down trodden flowers.
The tears we shed from the sins of powers.

Come Moroccan blue,
Wrought a Tokyo twilight;
The tangled neon, Guangzhou,
Ought London fog or gloom –
Entity’d ‘ever end with me.

So when gods plays jokes
Come a second near and nigh,
I’d nearly utter, “amen,”
Atop a belly, soon and son’s first cry –
I am a father; above, eternity’d grin.

So my plane kisses pavement, tepid,
Wrought one mother waiting; and
All I’d ran from, all abandoned,
Is now the only that’d welcome.
I’d never thought to nest, and yet –

Arrived, with straw in mouth.

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Washed up.
Lifeless.
All for a new life too far to reach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Terrorists
Heartless.
What happened to the human rights we all preach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Traffickers.
Gangs.
Displacing people no home and no speech.

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
A son.
No future.
We hang our heads and weep!

Waiting in the winds.
Squinting in the sunlit hills a group of people wait for darkness to fall.
Against all the odds they have travelled land and sea to make it this far but not far enough for THAT better life.
What do they seek on the other side of that dark tunnel?
Health wealth happiness.
Could it be a dream too far?
Even the fittest fail to survive as night after night death grips the bravest to jump onto a moving train destined for Grand Bretagne.

birds migrate
they fly from one place to another
but always come back
to the original

during that time
you and i met
so lets migrate
like the birds
to the land of joy

birds migrate
they fly from the new place to the old
rest in their true homes
while you and i slept