bombay...

the waves crashing against the rocks
the energy unmatched, unthinkable
the waves...
they are huge
unbound and strong
yet frustrate themselves trying to take over the city
the city...its buildings stand tall
overlooking, assessing the waves in their regalia
mocking them in their space
"back off"...they say
it is night time in the city
and lights reflect on the waves, the sea is never calm
maybe it takes from the city's throbbing energy
so full that it engulfs all
all that come into that ever-sprawling city
adding suburbs after suburbs to its expanse
claiming the sea too
for land to house us all
who come to it to be consumed
taken away, swept away

a shard of poetry that encompasses the refugee experience

buraambur composed by Hawa Jibril in Toronto

Indeed Canadians welcome refugees
And do not let them starve
Yet one is always unsatisfied and broke
For the little we get
Hardly suffices our food and shelter.
They are strange people coming from everywhere
Never notice you or even greet you
Each one keeps to himself
Always hastily locking his door.
I feel isolated and sick with loneliness
Deprived from my beautiful Africa
And the land of my inspirations and songs.
I must be contended with the fate
That my God has reserved for me.