Finding Refuge

The sweet smell of the old streets
Haunts me as I stand in the ignorant world of freedom,
For there is absolutely nothing left of the people in Syria.
One by one, house by house, the whole country fell apart.
On their knees, they beg us please, but we refuse to hear their shouts.
We have bills to pay and work to do,
We have no time for those who dream of finding a way out.
Let them fight their own battles, watch their children die on the streets,
And ride in boats in the middle of the night, and dream of a chance at a better life.
We Americans sit still, contently watching in fear of our own lives,
Yet he who watches the poor man die,
Is guilty himself for the crime.
Deny the access for those who look for refuge and a fresh start,
For isn’t that what that American Dream is all about?

Judy Shamshikh ’18

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