A Refugee’s Escape
~© Lozan Yamolk
Get me out of this sadness;
pull me out of this darkness.
Rid me of the miserable never ending bad news;
pick me out of the crowd of desensitized beings who no longer have empathy
for a suffering humanity.
Do something with me!
Launch me into the sky.
Shoot my body,
from the tip of my nose
to my toes,
up to the heavens.
Watch me fly away;
just let me go
until you see me no more.
Let me breeze past a flock of flying birds,
through the clouds,
past a flying aircraft,
and through arctic freezing air.
Let my body feel it; let me be consumed
by all what I am surrounded by now.
Up above the skies I go.
I will not look down
until I am up … up … up there
where no one can see me:
into the infinite deep;
into the glittering universe;
into that place shimmering
with spectacular endless spots of light.
I see nothing above me or around me
but the sparkling
– wow!
I will not stop until I get there.
When I arrive,
I will float weightlessly.
Nothing is happening here:
not a sound,
not a motion,
nothing moving but my arms spread like wings.
I am here.
I am free.
I am flying.
I am at peace.
I look down and I see the peaceful blue planet.
Here, I forget the pain:
the darkness of hearts
and the cries of innocents.
From up here:
I do not see blood.
I do not smell gunpowder.
I do not hear the explosions.
I do not feel the lifeless bodies of my people scattered around me.
Then I remember those who are in the dark;
not from lack of light,
but from the lack of love in their hearts.
For those blinded by the idea of harming others
believing it will somehow bring them peace;
it will balance this world;
it will bring them victory.
Oh, how I wish I could take
some of this peace I feel right now
and transport it into their hearts.
Oh how I wish darkness would
wonder,
search,
want,
peace and love
which will make them lay down their weapons.
Oh, how I hope the darkness
does not pass the shadows
to their offspring,
or the offspring
of those they harmed.
I hope they all search
and find how easy this is:
how peaceful;
how comfortable.
I opened my eyes
to the feeling of cold mud beneath me,
rain pouring though our torn up tent;
my wet clothes
and a soldier pointing his rifle
into my face
while ripping our tent wide open,
shouting at us:
“Get up and move out of here.
Get going.
Out!”
~© Lozan Yamolk
Poem from my debut book: I’m No Hero
Published in 2016 through Silver Bow Publishing
Contact me to get your copy.
Photo of one of my beautiful sisters, Viyan Janela from Kurdistan 1992
At this dinner, we also have Open Mic. I will be reading later in the evening.
