My kids ask me, 'O dad,
why don't we have home?
Why do we, like gypsies,
from place to place roam?

See, birds fly; before night
they come back in nest;
Only we have no home
on earth to take rest.'

How do I tell my kids:
one day I too had
a country; when I remember
it, I feel so sad!

How do I tell them: the
rich robbers of earth,
like dragons, have swallowed
the place of my birth?

They come in the name of
democracy; so
we salute them, because
to democracy, who can say ‘No'?

I saw you walk away from me, your eyes like burnt pastries
Tasteless was your gaze and tainted was your smirk.
I saw the last of your silk locks, saving themselves from my satin ruffles.
Useless was the lingerie I'd run my fingers through when you'd lean closer.
You told me my smile was the sun, yet you left in your spacecraft
Flirting with the stars, you left my glowing figure in a mist veil of polluted smoke.
You said I would drown in each lingering kisses, deep in a sea promised to never dry up.
You held me down with your addicting anchor; tempting was your touch and hopeful was your blush.

I saw you walk away,
Tasteless;
Tainted;
Useless;
Refugee;
Polluted;
Suffocating;
Add­icting;
Hopeful.

I love you.

The man beside me talks in his native tongue,
I hear the accent, broken and beaten out of him yet still,
strong
he is talking of crossings and kindness, a welcome mat on the door of another
country
his coffee skin is spooned like sugar, people either take or leave
it
and the sound of waves crashing over a rubber boat
and the cries of children as icy water hits their not yet weather worn faces
pregnant women rummaging in bins for bread and the skin and bones of men,
beaten, broken, seeking comfort from an unkind face
a border, protected and a land that needs purging, a plague of fear and the man, beside me
who I cannot understand except in his heartbeat and in mine, synchronised organs that know nothing of race, fear and hate that breeds and blossoms like cherry trees. Peeling back skin and language, I hold his hand, as the ashes of the world fall on us all.

I've got a new friend, he is called... I forgot.
He told me the other day.
He said he's got many names. At least four.
He told me how is he called.
But I don't remember at all.
He said:
- Don't worry, maybe it's even better that you don't remember,
don't worry my friend. Just call me a friend.
Sometimes I forget my names myself. Who cares!

My new friend comes from... I can't remember.
He said he was born in one country,
and raised in another, then moved somewhere else,
only to move yet somewhere else.
He told me all these countries names,
but I forgot. What a shame.
I said to him: My friend, I'm sorry, but I don't remember them,
the countries you were born and raised, and the countries
you lived before we met.
But he said:
- Don't worry, my friend, I don't take offence,
maybe it's even better that you forgot it,  mate.
It's fine. Let's forget the past. Let's say I'm from here, okay?
Okay. But...
- No, no but, mate. It's not a problem at all.
Sometimes even me I forget when I was born
and where I lived. Who cares! I don't care myself.
It doesn't matter anymore what's your name, where are you from.
It was never a big deal to me. Never something to be proud of, to brag,
more likely something to hide, to cry about.
I asked him: Why?
He replied:
- You wouldn't wanna know.
I said: I would.
He said:
- Nevermind.

I gazed upon a weary field
Where wayward seeds had blown,
And plots were laid and borders sealed
Beneath a golden crown,
And rising from a ghastly host
Of unkempt thorny briar,
On writhing mist a fallen ghost
Lit up a spectral pyre.

Cold shivered flames shot heavenward
Convulsing time to freeze,
The fertile land was drowned in mud
And clouded with disease.
Across the field a battle raged
Beneath an orange flare,
Old roots entwined as limbs engaged
And tussled for the air.

In eager rows defenders fell
Supplanted by their foe,
A mud draped rug of pod and shell
Buried the ground below,
And racing upwards in a spire
To reach Heaven's domain
They sought to steal the sun's bright fire
To use for their own gain.

Fresh saplings withered in the heat
That scorched the living soil,
And ashes rained down like a sheet
To form an acrid pile;
The sweet decay of rotting limbs
Pervaded like a shield,
As evening sang her doleful hymns
Across a barren field.

Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
But sure, it's not my house collapsing, so I don't mind.
An entire terrace brought down without a care.
I guess our children are more important than theirs.

When under attack, by all means defend.
But a good offensive's impact extends.
The young afraid of the sky will grow.
Their memory won't be impaired you know?

So by fighting back we create our foe.
First hand, future generations will know.
Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
Blind from the past, blind from its victims, blind.

Look at the child with the rifle
She's posing for a photo
She just doesn't know what it means.
Give it three years, and she still won't know.
Except now her people,now her country have nowhere to go
She's 6 years old with an arms embargo
The country is suddenly three now
The people inside can't see,the people murdered along its beaches can't see.
The people washed ashore can't see.
Air strikes fall somewhere distant.
Militants front and center
Nothing else but to surrender
The country's identity is reduced to its language,their colors and the violence around them
Never did it experience serenity
Fully get the wealth from their oil and luxury
Nobody could guess that people could shake and shimmy along the beaches
Where the nameless faces appear,dreams dust in their open and clenched fists.

Look at the child with the rifle
She's posing for a photo
She just doesn't know what it means.
Give it three years, and she still won't know.
Except now her people,now her country have nowhere to go
She's 6 years old with an arms embargo
The country is suddenly three now
The people inside can't see,the people murdered along its beaches can't see.
The people washed ashore can't see.
Air strikes fall somewhere distant.
Militants front and center
Nothing else but to surrender
The country's identity is reduced to its language,their colors and the violence around them
Never did it experience serenity
Fully get the wealth from their oil and luxury
Nobody could guess that people could shake and shimmy along the beaches
Where the nameless faces appear,dreams dust in their open and clenched fists.