The Refugee’s Journey in Darkness

The darkness overwhelmed her and within its womb

her hurts were hidden and her tears could fall like rain

and the storm of running, hiding, and protecting her

children was for a moment abating and creating a place,

a space for rest and respite, hugs and holding tight.

The smell of burned homes and grenades bursting

still soaked their clothes and strong in her nostrils.

Sights and sounds that will stir their vivid dreams.


The guns were distant and the drones silent in the star

lighted sky, exhausted her eyes closed and the drag

of sleep overcame her but a rustle in the bushes and

she was awake, alert and her anxiety rose as she lay.

No other sound and so she let her heavy eyes droop

and her head rest on the emaciated bone hardness of 

her daughter, and woke as the light began to show

bringing colour to the shrubs and trees around them.


Slowly they arose and she gave them water, bread 

and the strength to walk on through the thickening

trees. Pausing here, and there to watch and hear if

death drones followed. And so they crept on silently.

In the susurrous rustling of leaves they saw the hut.

A man took her cash, watch, phone and promised

a safe journey. The hungry, wasting children were

quiet on the boat and hastened to travel as advised.


They had not eaten, nor had clean water and yet

hopefully setting off they joyfully arrived at the

shore of the English Channel.  The boat was thin

and crowded but sailing towards her mother and

there were her cousins too, gave her good spirits.

Cold, Hungry after travelling  a thousand miles

they arrive. Firmly they are shushed and ushered,

into locked rooms, questioned, cruelly separated.


The children dragged away from her screaming.

She’s interrogated with her heart breaking. ‘I’m

back fighting for my life,  my girls, my son,’

she thought. No welcome, no warmth, only 

questions and coldness.  As the darkness of tory

party prejudice destroyed her hopes it seemed

to her that the killer, diving drones 

would have been 


A Refugee Hell

She shrank from the man, who wanted to enslave her body,

and over months with her children she walked, crawled 

and found a 

place to sleep. work for few coins, hiding and

hoping that they would not chase her and place her 

again in chains. 

A man took pity, her money and her mother’s jewellery

and placed her in a group to travel across the wide

wilderness. She ate scraps and sold her body so that

she could keep travelling away from terror and try to

find a way through to feed her cheerless children. 

It took more than a year before she was pushed onto

a frail boat that was thrust into the seething waters of

a strange sea and holding her children, enduring the

cold and violence of the waves they arrived on a 

strange and sandy shore. Lights sparkled dimly in 

a far off way and together they walked through the

strong salty grasses.


Someone came and took her

and thrust her into a van and gruff voices warned

her in a language of violence and further threats.


Mute and the children grizzling they held tightly to

one another, and once the van stopped, they were

talked through a security gate into a building full

of destitute, desperate people from lands far away.


She shrank back with her children and knew that

hell was here. They told her through an interpreter

that she would be returned, and discovered to

her shock that she was hated by this government,

and that Great Britain was cruel, compassionless 

and as threatening as those,

through which she had hard travelled.