The Refugee

Sasi Priyadharshini | 19-Aug-2016

The night has slipped in, it's getting dark
The kind of darkness that brings with it warmth and serenity
My gaze shifts from the shimmering stars above to the neon lights below
Nothing is dark after all, except for my burnt out, sombered heart
Suffering is what they call it- the one I chose for myself

The Refugee

I wonder what my own land looks like at this moment
The land that kissed my toes for the very first time
The land that has long forgotten its lull, love and lustre
I feel myself drowning in the stupor of memories
Nostalgia is what they call it- the saw that keeps ripping me off

I see a thousand faces, longing for the faintest trace of smile
Senses are numbed and tormented from living in the grave
Redemption can never be sought here, not for me at least
For I am a traitor who infringed his own conscience
Repentance is what they call it- the punishment for my mere existence

I see my dreams towering up right in front of my eyes
Only to be bombarded into specks of smothering ashes
I fantasise myself fingering happiness today, tomorrow or the day after
Even imagination doesn't care to comfort this broken stranger
A Refugee is what they call me- the name entitled to the nameless me.

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About the Author
Sasi Priyadharshini
I am among the millions of people trying to discover themselves. I believe writing is one way of doing so. Hope you connect with my thoughts.