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Migrant refugee
a place of temporary
community is everything for
The Afghan, Syrian, Iranian and Africans of all
from the jungle they came, to The Jungle they go.
A place to pass through hope
to go over to Dover and
beyond. Think so fond
of the other side.
Work, new life, peace
and family they seek.
On a journey to travel, men,
women and kids flee from
an evil chasing their race.
They stare death in its
face the whole way.
To leave it all behind in hope
to find that which is true.
Some French help, some unsure,
others come from afar
to serve and ask
"What can I do?"
to find there is nothing but to see.
Some pray and some say
"I will not stay"
after months of waiting
to leave with no more tricks in
their sleeve, oh Lord when
will they believe in this Jesus
who sets all free.
Calais is a city in France that borders Dover England separated by the English channel. Muslim refugees flee their nation as bombings increase in their neighborhoods from ISIS and other evils. By the time they have traveled through deserts and mountains fighting starvation and exposure to then drift across the Aegean Sea into Athens Greece, those who survive try to make it into the rest of Europe for freedom. Those few hundreds that make it out of Athens find themselves in a place called "The Jungle" in Calais, France. This is basically an old landfill that does not get used anymore, so the generous French government has made use of this space and has made a camp for the refugees in this place. Everyone who is there wants to continue moving to find more work and a better life. Hope and despair are a constant battle in these peoples reality. This refugee camp is called The Jungle because of the diversity of nations and culture represented in this community. What once was an official government camp for 1500 people is now surrounded by 5000 refugees in "tent shacks" and makeshift buildings provided by local ministries because no one plans on staying long term. But after a few years of a growing population, human attributes have made small businesses, shops and cafes with different communities in this vast landscape making every day life palatable for the people living in these  conditions. Every night people are trying to be smuggled across the English Channel on boat in anyway they can find.Hiding in a crate, truck and many others are a passport in their eyes as getting official paperwork in near impossible.
Y Rada Mar 2016
My arms you cannot touch
my voice you cannot hear
my tears you cannot wipe away
but my heart is pierced by your cries
my ears hear your silent wails
on the other side of this world
i know your pains but
i do not feel you -

oh faceless one!
oh persecuted one!

do not lose yourself because
of these deathly struggles
do not let the fire burn down
finish the race sweet sibling of faith-
get your reward at Jesus' feet
receive the applause of the
myriad of angels
and let the heavens embrace
you in its bossom
Bianca Reyes Feb 2016
My heart was found guilty
Of witchcraft by my brain
He dragged her and beat her
Spewed his hatred for her
Tied her to a wooden stake

My brain couldn't comprehend
The magic of my heart
Why she never wavered
How she always loved
He started this persecution
Because he couldn't understand

I always felt her growing
Beautifully and powerfully
With every beat she won me over
All I did was want to protect her
But my brain called it heresy

My punishment was to watch
As he burned her alive
I heard the shrieks of hope die
The smell of her love stung
My nostrils and it haunts me still

I walk around pretending
As if nothing had ever happened
My brain condemned me to live
This life without my heart
Without the love and only
With the memory of that night

Every day I burn like she did
As every day I hate like he did
I was unable to convince him
That she just wanted to love
But my brain was too afraid
Of the powers of my heart
Shared on Hello Poetry on February 1, 2016
Copywrite under Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved

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