I read about the refugees still flooding the world from Syria,
Afghanistan, Iraq, Africa. Their story is my story. We are one.

Under the heavy rain
I am standing,
Cold and shaking
With no roof or
umbrella.

Under the dome of a tent
in a refugee camp,
just surviving,
with no blanket,
no dignity,
only ghosts.

Under the snowfall
there’s no place for a snowman.
Inside the refugee caravan,
I am shivering from cold.

Under the sky,
heavy with fire and warplanes,
we die,
without the dignity of looking into
our enemy’s eyes.

But under the shining sun,
I will dream a new dream,
nurture a new hope in my heart,
despite the towering
apartheid wall.