When I was born
my mother said
you are a refugee.
Our tent on the roadside
smoked in the snow.

On your forehead
between your eyebrows
there is an R embossed
my teacher said.

I scratched and scrubbed,
on my forehead I found
a brash of red pain.

I have three tongues
the one that sings
is my mother tongue.

The R on my forehead
between my English and Hindi
the Tibetan tongue reads:



You can leave your comment here

There is one comment for “Refugee”

  1. Born refugee then to die refugee would be a disgrace.
    So I take this fight personally,
    this war to my heart and battle passionately.
    I want to be in my own country within my own boundary.
    When I get home,
    I’ll smear my forehead with the soil drenched
    in the blood of my brave countrymen.
    Mixture of flesh and bone of their sacrifice.
    Then, like Indians I would dance around the fire
    to awake the silent soul to evoke the courage
    And I shall speak to the mountains who’ve seen it all.

    O! holy spirit I shall take this campaign to the next level
    Coz, we got distances to travel.
    Once again rivers would be turning red.
    Bodies would be dropped; lifeless. But, they won’t be ours.
    We shall drive the enemy out that’s for sure without a doubt.
    And this time we shall emerge victorious.
    So, my compatriots pack your bag
    We would be going home soon.

Post your comment.

Your email address will not be published, or used in any way other than for submitting this comment.
Put a blank line to make a paragraph.