Refugee/Migrant

In memorium of Alan Kurdi, close-up. Photo: Nilüfer Demir, DHA.

The road home is long
to the prodigal son’s feet,
the heart flies ahead.

The gates are open
always, waiting in welcome,
the heart rejoices.

Why is my brother,
who never strayed from heaven,
sad at my coming?

In the father’s house
there is always abundance
to feed the hungry.

Only the glutted
fear there will not be enough
and close the borders.

Food at the banquet
crumbles to dust and ashes,
a child dies, starving.

©️🥀🐇

Migrant

Image: ©️ John Patrick Flood

Since the beginning of time
I have wandered this planet
moving across its wide spaces
with my seasons’ changes,
finding home in connections
beside the hearth of strangers,
for a short while of succour,
of storytelling and feasting,
before moving on like the wind
to find a new resting place.
Leaving behind memories,
vague flickering images
on the wall of the cave
that danced in the firelight
and faded with dawn.
The path that I wander
stretches over distant ridges
and unfamiliar valleys
into unknown places,
whose silent call
I hear, deep in my bones,
to which my feet respond,
whether I will or not.

This day, I bless you,
for accompanying me
along this lonely stretch
as our paths run parallel
for this brief while.

©️🥀🐇
23 April 2021

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