Dear Khodayar, how far have you travelled in this warm rain?
The scent of warm earth all around you. I know you haven’t brought much with
you, the danger was too great and the journey was too long. Did you have to
tell any lies to stay alive a bit longer? You made it to this island full of
birds and then you were force fed on our lies. You got past the reefs that
surround this place like teeth; behind which hides our insecutity.
This place is a harsh land. All lands are harsh. We all have
blood on our hands. Now we have a bit more blood on our hands – your blood
Khodayar. You were not able to stay alive any longer. The “friend of God” was
abandoned by the people. You found no friendship here, only harsh treatment and
false slogans of humanity. You and your sisters and brothers of the road have
scorpions pressed into your hands. Hateful things, shameful things, behind the
razor wire, inside the prison gates. The colour of your skin and your need are
your only crimes. Love Stephen
No comments:
Post a Comment