Story of a child refugee by Asmita Rajiv

Mom, I want to go home

Home…My sweet home… My lost home

Where I played with stones and papers,
Where friends ran with me from dusk to dawn,
My home of mud and broken bricks,
My home of holes and tattered walls

I towed my little thoughts filled with big doubts,
Will I have friends there who will play with me?
On the strange tarred streets between the tents,
My new home where I am strangely called a refugee

Is it my fault Mom that I had to come here?
Leaving the world that I called my home?
The days I know are beautiful here,
But the nights are still as dark as my home

Can I ever go back to my country?
Can I ever see my friends again?
Can I ever play with the games of innocence?
Can I ever touch my home again?

Mom, I miss my Home…My lost home…My favourite home…

- Asmita Rajiv