A poem on refugees

She Hates Her Laughter
[ The Little Refugeegirl]
The ikon of that little face
always present asleep or awake.
The one hand stretching out to grasp,
the other beating, kicking waters back.
How could the poor weaked creatures
keep themselves on the foam up!
Had she the strength to clasp him to her!
Slap on the mouth the wave,
saltiness swallowed for breath
gives her a turn. Flinches,
in a whirlwind immersed…
Hh! she does not remember any more
what else there and after happened at all.

Scene bitter in her memory etched,
turbulent sea, to fight waters against,
the agony on the gaze,
the suppliance in his crying voice.
They did not manage to save him too.
Drowned, they said,
found him at the bottom, …dead.

Oh! She still hears the bullets and bombs
falling rain in the neighborhood.
Her ear heard on the flight’s road
that many known and friends went lost,
these and these she as well knew
schoolmates also too and not a few.

Shudders the mind, trembes the heart,
alone the bitter tears often roll down.
She feels a knot clogging the throat.
Sob strange comes often out as breath.
In the foamed waves does not forget
that cursed moment,
does not,
and twists the poor button
once to the right once to the left…..

She hates her laughter,
she cuts it in the middle of the process,
she hides it, ashamed, afraid
obstinately closes lips,

less in the world be heard,
a tear yes, preferred to be shared, yes!
He does not know, does not believe,
imagine can not,
whether her lips will ever again laugh,
whether reopen free wings in the sky up.
How she can not bear anyone
thinking of her a Lucky one,
when she would have free lips to laugh,
if only in her place were
that, that child and all the other lost ones!

Dimitrios Galanis