Migrants

 

Her surname gave her away;

I asked, If not an islander,

Where was she from?

She smiled,

Her father was from the highlands,

Mum from the eastern plains

But it was here,  in the islands

That they had found Home.

 

Her dad, she said, was in the police forces

He had to see terror

To want to find peace

One posting here, and life never returned

To the noises of youth

‘And you? Don’t you seek that noise of the city?’

She was happy, incorruptible

Her wisdom sought not experience

 

Rather, she sought her home:

The shadow of the palm trees,

The white sands of coral breath

The endless shades of blue

And a little collared kingfisher

That came every other day

To remind, this was paradise

Even with wings, one need not fly away

 

‘But are you’ll not scared?

Giant waves, the tsunami?’

She smiled yet again

‘We survived one, may be

We will survive oner more.’

Until then, a little kingfisher

Flits on wizened sands, peaceful

That the migrants have all found a home…

 

04^th July’ 2024