I want to sing but I don’t know any songs

I carry tears in my eyes; goodbye Father, goodbye Father.

People have been trying to kill me since I was 14 years old.

The same people from the previous century, about my father and me.

I carry soil in small bags; may home never fade in my heart.

I carry names, stories, memories of my village – it’s called ‘Survival Strategies and the Melancholy of Racial Assimilation’.

I am an orphan of the wars forced upon me.

I am a refugee of the sea rising from industrial waste

and I carry my mother tongue –

Uwese, Uwese, Uwese.

...a word collage by a Cotton Tree asylum seeker.

 


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The heal & grow branch

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