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Quit your childish, mouth breathing,
shirt buttoned up wrong nonsense
and as a grown human
witness the others around you

Sometimes they cook and talk different,
sometimes look and worry too,
but as has been said for centuries
blood is always red
and there are way too many ******

The ones truly coming to take your lives,
your jobs, your holidays,
your houses, cars and sweethearts
speak on TV, Facebook, Twitter and the rags,
demanding you fear the folk
whose hearts and hands are desperate
to protect their kin, like you

In their money nests
the few snooze and giggle at your
wasted weight and misdirected roar

Bring it to bear
I can stay and die
or I can try to go where angry folk don’t want me

Death, or raging pink faces
is a choice of sorts,
but still no place, no home

So, beheading, or maybe hanging,
lynched by dragging,
or if lucky, shot alone,

versus locking up in a green walled facility,
****** as it may be,
until someone takes a moment to judge me safe,
is luxury

Or maybe I’ll be deported,
doomed,
I struggle to see your view against me

As a young brown man I know I’m done,
I might have a degree in medicine
or years of fixing cars or houses, horses,
understand trade or charity

It won’t matter
when my photofit
reminds you of another brown man
who blew himself up or lashed out with a knife,
for a misread life and afterlife

A few white lives will always tip the scale
where hundreds,
thousands,
millions of ours,
despite your fears
will not prevail
Amanda Apr 17
I have no place to run

I have no place to hide

This home I have lived in since my birth is no longer a safe location

Does not feel like there is anywhere suitable for a sanctuary

My own house as close to a safehouse as it gets for the present moment
Every single inhabitant of planet Earth is now a refugee
About the COVID-19 pandemic obviously
Ellis Reyes Feb 6
Left, Right, Left
Mile after mile
We flood
Feet blistered, bleeding

Mile after mile
Heads down
Bleeding, blistered feet
On a long dirt road to nowhere

Heads down
Driving rain
On an endless road to nowhere
Jeeps, HIDE!

Driving rain
Live or die
We flood
To freedom
I've been experimenting with a variety of poetic forms. This is the third in a series of Pantoums.
Angelique Jan 10
product of butchered philosophy
men must suffer at the hands of those distracted
by their thirst for their self interest  
punishment is dealt at the request of politics
radical voices
which are silenced by the liberty bred into the rebel
who too fought against crimes
seeking refuge in a new land
but would not allow refuge to those
who suffered at the hands of their destruction
Ciel Oct 2019
I salute all the parents who sacrificed everything
to ensure a better life for their kids.
I feel for the kids that are constantly told they do not belong.
I celebrate the courage of the families who sought a new beginning.
I stand behind the immigrants, and the refugees.
Behind those who were brave enough to make a choice
and those who did not have one.
I stand by the kids who fight for a better future;
Those who claim a country that refuses to recognize them;
Those who are told to go back to a place they do not know.
I stand by those condemned for wanting to be alive.
I stand by those who dared to dream.
Aramitz J Durant Sep 2019
a world apart, i stood
where two universes had divided,
where a wall had fallen, crumbled
into dust and ashes of
the men who had attempted

to cross it;
with all their might and desperation
risked their lives so that
their children might one day
see freedom

with their wide wondering eyes
of naïveté and joy.
a world apart i stood,
desperately clinging to their stories:
their martyrdom;

the names i would never know;
the stories that would go
untold with nobody who knew
them, nobody to tell them
anymore.

a world apart i stood
watching the snowfall in
berlin, dampening the streets
where the death strip once
tore life from the innocent

in the name of separation;
the falseness of east and
west.
a world apart i stood,
glad that it was no more.
This was written shortly after my first trip to Berlin last year. The sacrifices people made in order to escape to the West was something that really touched me; the accidental martyrs the Wall made out of people who only ever wanted to be free. This poem is for Peter Fechter, who I hope is finally at peace and free, wherever he may be.
Mark Sep 2019
Why do dictators like to finger the globe?
Shoot the ******* dead, before they become world known.
Should we strangle the gangster and forget about a police probe?
Now in Ferguson, it's happening daily and getting full blown.

Do you think about how others live?
Or look away from others in society your with.

What sort of human can make another's jaw drop and body flop?
Get in the ring, put on your gloves and see who comes out on top.
Will the man on the moon ever show us his dark side?
Maybe the little green men have got something to hide.

Do you think about how others live?
Or look away from others in society your with.

Do clowns sometimes cry and does their eyeliner run?
Maybe there black or white and some might even carry a gun.
Do prison girls like the jail uniform stripe?
Surely they wish for a pink blouse, but never gripe.

Do you think about how others live?
Or look away from others in society your with.

Why do banks, shareholders and politicians always have money in reserve?
While the workers, pensioners and babies don't get what they deserve.
Since when should new immigrants be able to paddle to shore?
When skilled workers from afar and new brides are drowned in red tape, for sure.

So just think about how others live?
Also look at all others in society and give.
Mohammed Arafat Aug 2019
From a tent to another, I move.
It’s raining,
and sometimes, snowing.
It doesn’t matter how cold it is,
because I am cold.
I have only one blanket,
when I sleep,
one sweaters,
when I move from a tent to another,
under rain,
and sometimes snow.

Wait! I am day-dreaming.
I don’t live in a tent anymore.
I live in a makeshift home.
I have more blankets.
I have more sweaters.
My life is better,
but I still feel cold.

I look out from the dusty window,
that looks like those in jails,
in my room I share with my brother.
It’s sunny outside!
It’s hot!
but why am I cold?

I am still looking outside from the same window.
More makeshift houses appear,
all around,
“Our refugees’ rights?”
written in Arabic, I read on the walls around.
By then, I realized I am still called a refuge.

I saw people marching,
holding banners,
asking for human rights,
holding Palestinian flags,
and wearing the Kofeya.
I realized I am still a refuge.
I see people,
forced to leave their homeland,
to another,
where they live with no rights,
to have jobs,
to build houses.

I see kids,
looking at the protesters,
not knowing what they are looking at,
but I know they realize that,
they are still refugees,
in a neighbouring country,
oppressed and cold.

Mohammed Arafat
03-08-2019
When streets in Palestinian refugees camps around Palestine are filled with loud voices in recent days, it's not celebration but protests, bearing the message "Enough, we want dignity".
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