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61

Poetry

I am Refugee

Debi Mukherjee

A century ago, we fled our lands,
weathering extortion, and persecution’s cruel hand.
survived by the death of millions of my kin,
I stand here today, their legacy within.

My people, with calloused hands, birthed a nation anew,
freeing Her from colonial chains, a price paid that our kins knew.
Mothers and sons, torn apart in their strife,
weathering famines, extortion, and persecution’s cruel hand,
famine ending old and young lives,
as our country was being rebuilt in the name of God.

Huddled together, clinging to the remnants of life,
we were outsiders in the land they fought to reclaim.
In the years that followed, we lost our roots,
with centuries-old lineage scattered, lay adrift.

Yet our blood boiled with an unyielding fire,
seeking our recognition, respect and identity, we aspired —
From nothing, we rebuilt our lives, inching slowly towards our dreams,
refugee blood coursing through our veins,
a testament to our courage, and spirit despite the pain.

The collective might of fathers, and mothers' silent cries,
willed them into existence; to rebuild a future that defies,
their courage a force beyond compare,
prayers whispered through nights of despair.

A century has passed yet our fathers’ stories I share,
so the younglings too remember them with care.
In this promised land, years have gone by,
what was lost, never fully regained.
But I stand, proud of the bloodline I bear,
while today is ours, and for tomorrow we sow,
needs but courage, for the seed to grow.

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