in

Refugees

A child’s pain
They dragged me out of the rubble ,

Of what once was our home ,

We all ran I don’t know where ,

But why was the little one left there?

Mother cried ,” let me put a handful of dust over him.”

No time, run, run !

we were cramped in a truck

that sped to nowhere ,

Hungry and exhausted ,bewildered,

With parched throats and glazed

eye we moved ,

Yet no one dared to utter a moan .

A river to cross and another was lost,

Quietly we watched him drown at the cliff.

Our sister was dragged and left for dead,

A living corpse she remained since then .

Mother shed silent tears this time, and moved with human river,

Casting a quick glance behind ,

Pitched tents were our home now ,

Stood in the queue for food and water

Laughed at by the people there ,

For our funny ways and funny language .

Lecherous glances and lewd remarks

Mother ignored for our sake ,

She doesn’t cry anymore ,

Never again I heard her laugh ,

Patiently we are bearing the brunt of,

Ambitions of politicians and so called lords .

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Written by Sarita Khullar

Sarita Khullar is a retired associate professor in English from Hans Raj Mahila Mahavidyalaya, Jalandhar. She loves poetry and fiction. She also likes birds, flowers, animals, and humans.

Me.

Hues most Divine