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Thoughts of a refugee, displaced in a frightening world.

By John Oliver SmithPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
Photo by Amir Arabshahi on Unsplash

Only one of people poor,

Around the world today -

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,

Just trying hard,

to find my way.

Fast-fading dreams of coming home,

Just somewhere to sleep,

To give my family a chance of hope.

A dream of food,

for these trusting hearts I keep.

No thoughts of playing ball games,

Sliding carefree down a snowy slope.

My children know not what it means.

My wife is forced,

Each day to cope –

With nothing more than dirty clothes,

Threadbare blankets, beggar’s ware.

We move from camp to camp, In search of something,

Something that isn’t even,

Likely now to be there.

My desperate times have not allowed for me,

A single solitary one,

To worship or to idolize,

To look up to,

While my loved ones run.

I once dreamed of only happiness,

For my family and me.

But with no such thing as dignity,

There’s not much future,

Left to see.

I once dreamed of being someone,

Who had riches, maybe fame.

It’s hard to dream of those things now –

No dignity.

Only shame.

But I will try my very best,

For my loved ones, to carry on.

I’ll smile and speak, as if filled with hope,

And hold up my head,

As if I’ve won.

Because I would never want them all to think,

That the world out there they see,

Is one in which they can’t imagine,

Living life,

With dignity.

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About the Creator

John Oliver Smith

Baby, son, brother, child, student, collector, farmer, photographer, player, uncle, coach, husband, student, writer, teacher, father, science guy, fan, coach, grandfather, comedian, traveler, chef, story-teller, driver, regular guy!!

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    John Oliver SmithWritten by John Oliver Smith

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