by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
I heard an astounding statement on the radio this morning - the United States now has custody of more than 10,000 refugee children whose parents either crossed the U.S. border illegally or presented themselves at the border, kids in tow, seeking asylum. More than 10,000 children, some of whom are only weeks old. We have all seen the news coverage of screaming children being pulled from the arms of their distraught parents, images that have to raise moral issues even in the most jaded of individuals.
There was one story in the news this week about a mother who was detained in Texas and her children were flown to a childcare agency in New York City. The kids are being placed in foster care, even though most of the state foster care systems are already well over capacity. Others are going into group homes, administrative "detention centers," and even psychiatric hospitals. All without the participation, consent, or even knowledge of their parents.
The kids are traumatized, the parents are shell-shocked, and the representatives of the government who perpetrate these atrocities are smug and sanctimonious. The narrative that our government would like us to buy into is that these people are crossing the border totally by choice as a way of making more money and perhaps garnering some of the material advantages of our capitalistic system.
The true circumstances of people who make the long march north are often far more complicated. Many are fleeing gang violence and circumstances so dire and dangerous that the threats posed by the American ICE gestapo are a risk worth taking. They are running from a home that is literally the "mouth of a shark."
Today's selection is "Home" by British-Somali poet Warsan Shire, a young lady who is a well established poet and songwriter. This poem has become a rallying cry for the world's refugees and their advocates. "Home" illuminates some of the circumstances that actually force people to leave the safety and comfort of their "home" and flee into the unknown. Those thousands of children and their parents crossing our border did not head north for a vacation - many were fleeing for their very lives - and they ran out of one fire and into another.
Home
by Warsan Shire
Poetry Appreciator
I heard an astounding statement on the radio this morning - the United States now has custody of more than 10,000 refugee children whose parents either crossed the U.S. border illegally or presented themselves at the border, kids in tow, seeking asylum. More than 10,000 children, some of whom are only weeks old. We have all seen the news coverage of screaming children being pulled from the arms of their distraught parents, images that have to raise moral issues even in the most jaded of individuals.
There was one story in the news this week about a mother who was detained in Texas and her children were flown to a childcare agency in New York City. The kids are being placed in foster care, even though most of the state foster care systems are already well over capacity. Others are going into group homes, administrative "detention centers," and even psychiatric hospitals. All without the participation, consent, or even knowledge of their parents.
The kids are traumatized, the parents are shell-shocked, and the representatives of the government who perpetrate these atrocities are smug and sanctimonious. The narrative that our government would like us to buy into is that these people are crossing the border totally by choice as a way of making more money and perhaps garnering some of the material advantages of our capitalistic system.
The true circumstances of people who make the long march north are often far more complicated. Many are fleeing gang violence and circumstances so dire and dangerous that the threats posed by the American ICE gestapo are a risk worth taking. They are running from a home that is literally the "mouth of a shark."
Today's selection is "Home" by British-Somali poet Warsan Shire, a young lady who is a well established poet and songwriter. This poem has become a rallying cry for the world's refugees and their advocates. "Home" illuminates some of the circumstances that actually force people to leave the safety and comfort of their "home" and flee into the unknown. Those thousands of children and their parents crossing our border did not head north for a vacation - many were fleeing for their very lives - and they ran out of one fire and into another.
Home
by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won't let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it's not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i've become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won't let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it's not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i've become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
No comments:
Post a Comment