In the midst of parched desert
no-one can come with us
We cannot journey hand in hand
There is no green place to rest the eye
and the scorching wind of destiny lashes at our backs
A call to DIMIA is like the smell of rain in the desert
Hope, like black clouds, building in our thirsty hearts
turns quickly into grief
Rejection, like lightening, immediately reveals the empty promise
And still we follow the illusion of democracy and liberty
A mirage, tempting and alluring
All of us converge from afar, all have taken different paths
In search of its beautiful lie
We walk the rocky road,
walk beside the skeletons of those who have come before
We wonder how we could have all been
seduced by humanity's faithless song of love for one another
And now we draw closer and see the beauty is two-faced
Suddenly we stand waist deep
The mirage; a swamp of turmoil and deceit
Madness clawing at our souls, we struggle just to keep breathing
To stay still, only to sink?
To agitate and tire?
Bogged in mud like cows
Some come to welcome its cloying embrace
and gladly let it close around their hopes and choke their dreams
I am one of them and watch it suck our lives
And wish that death would come to me so that I can satisfy its hunger
Let it take me, quickly, as a sacrifice to take the drought.
BY MOHSEN SOLTANY
[The writer spent four years in an Australian immigration detention centre.]
From Â鶹´«Ã½ Weekly, May 7, 2003.
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