"why are you here, you filthy immigrant?"
why are we broken by spoken barbs,
spewing out of sewers cloaked beneath acceptable garbs,
while the blades of splintered humanity are sharpened into lethal shards,
of ‘my country right or wrong’,
under the comfortable charade,
the vulgar parade,
of clinging onto feigned piety,
dragged pitilessly along,
weaving new lies, obfuscating what is right and what is wrong,
waving flags tainted with blood, on and on, as the pain never ceases to abate,
wielding blood-soaked swords to behead, to oppress, to subjugate,
the many who have forever been on the wrong side of the fence,
the other side of the tracks,
nakedly vulnerable outside the gate,
shut out of the dream,
pummelled by untruths of working hard, doing more, and shutting up,
carrying within, the ghastly pain, a mute scream,
stuck beneath merciless clouds,
because we need the money,
the greenback,
the notes,
the coins,
the oil,
the designer innerwear that barely shrouds,
the racist cacophony of the hate-filled crowds,
the stench of putrid opulence, of festering greed,
of capital and influence and power ripping out each humane seed,
by the by, shutting out the opportunities for a better life for all,
because when love,
life,
hope,
dreams,
aspirations,
the yearning for something better,
is a lament, a plea, a beseeching call,
for respect,
dignity,
for the numberless,
always shoved down, yet standing tall,
the banished, cast away into the currents of the seas,
as every war makes human beings as you and I, like insects scatter,
viewed live on tv screens, but that does no longer matter,
to be swept along islands of stillness,
young children lying dead on pristine shores,
while the picture goes viral, and the shares, the views and the likes soars,
a child not lucky to ride the waves of random happenstance,
when just "making it to safety" is a mere throw of the dice of chance.
"so yes",
"yes".
“that is how I got to be here”,
the immigrant says.
Afzal Moolla was born in Delhi, India while his parents were in exile, working as political exiles against Apartheid in South Africa. He then travelled wherever his parent’s work took them, spending time in Egypt, Finland, and Iran. Afzal works and lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.
This piece was first published on Afzal Moolla's personal blog.