refugee
Poetry
I Am Not a Runaway
Aura was sorrowful,
With wails crooning against walls.
Anguish sang songs,
So sorrowful and unhappy.
Sound of a bomb : not a lullaby
Was raising up.
Pain was all around,
With humans torn apart.
Blood was in motion,
With no path to drift,
As...
Poetry
Was it My Fault?
Oh! Mother mine, was it my fault?
That I was born on your lap?
Or is there something more to it?
Don't I deserve to live a life,
With an identity and dignity?
I saw dad fighting all through,
Oh!...