WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A REFUGEE?
SEMIRA JAKUPOVIĆ
On the occasion of June 20, World Refugee Day
Being a refugee means
To embark on a journey of no return
Instead of a compartment worthy of a man
Ride in a buggy
To pick up the snot in the bundle of life
And ask others if they know what sin is
And look for a house under the blue sky
And to think, “I only have one life,
I don’t need him so miserable either”
Being a refugee means
Life in a camp, with thousands of souls
Waiting in endless queues for hours
To see how ends meet
Cover yourself with rough, gray blankets
To sleep on hard, military beds
Standing patiently before worn-out cauldrons.
And dream of a better world
Being a refugee means
To be a man without an address
Constantly looking over your shoulder
To feel people losing pity
And they see you as a necessary evil
While you’re losing yourself
The ground under your feet.
Being a refugee means
To move from place to place
Seeking your happiness on endless lists
With the desire to connect you with someone of yours
Or let them cut you according to their luck
It became our trademark.
Plaid bag
To be found along the way
That little bit of misery
And they dye their heads
Youthful gray hair.
Where is the beginning of the end?
where hope meets despair
do you, the Most High, hear our prayers
Are our suffering souls afraid of anyone?
Is it in the clouds?
As we sail towards some better happiness
Whether on endless roads
As we cry, as we go far away,
As we separate from mother earth
Is it on the waves of the sea?
While we are torn by pain and sea madness
Is happiness waiting for us somewhere out there
As I fearfully walk the streets new
And I pray to God that I don’t get lost.
I don’t admire flashy shop windows
And I bow to the unfortunate beggars
Are they some of us too?
While listening to some incomprehensible language
And I nod my head when I don’t understand anything
People with colorless faces move past me
They pass by indifferently,
Perhaps they were also in the column of refugees
What a strange world, I think,
Nobody cares about anyone here,
How will I survive my life without my Bosnia,
How long will all this last?
The smelly air is constricting And the songs of the birds are not heard
I’m tired, but I don’t want to.
Return to the room without heat
I don’t even think about it in my sleep.
That one day I will reconcile with this stranger
And I dream of you, oh my mother,
How you hardly let me go
And you can’t give me anything better
Your look says, go, save yourself
And with tears in his eyes, come back as soon as possible.
There is no one to drink coffee with
Nevertheless, at night I get drunk with dreams of returning
1993.
