In Exile – Poem by Feraya 24.11.09

Here I sit in my small damp room
Looking at the grey buildings outside;
People rushing to their work;
Everything moves so fast here,
In this city, of this foreign land.
People catching trains,
Waiting for red buses,
People going somewhere,
Not wanting to waste any time…

As I sit here I dream of my homeland
The land that I will never see again.

It is safer in this foreign land,
I dream of the past and how things were
Before the soldiers came…

The misty mountains and the cool clear air,
The sound of wind chimes from faraway temples,
The smell of a wood smoke in the neighbouring field,
The stream nearby where we bathed and swam,
The cocks crowing just before dawn,
The evening butterflies that flew around me
As I helped to round up my father’s buffaloes.

And then, home was somewhere we had to run from
Just to survive
When the soldiers came…

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