I wonder if you wonder
how it would feel if the boot
were on the other foot;
would it make you shudder
to be that other that is me?
To know what I know
of violence, famine and fear
continuing year after year;
no safety in the shadows,
or comfort from the breeze.
And if you flee, the Devil takes his fee,
as you must pay your pound of flesh
for the chance to start afresh,
to be one more refugee
floating on a swollen sea.
Should you survive and finally arrive,
you’re seen as a problem:
unwanted flotsam.
But I burn to be alive,
to thrive and be free,
to put down roots and contribute
to build a life
away from strife
and tend the fruit
of a planted tree.
I wonder if you wonder
what you would do if the boot
were on the other foot;
would you sit and suffer,
or be that other – just like me?
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