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Parthak
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Migrants
They bring sadness and pain in their souls
They carry debris as if they were weapons
Hard-hearted before the strictness of dogs
That licks their open wounds
They can't tell one color from another anymore
A migrant:
“Doesn't believe in anything because
Nothing chases away his sorrows, which he only watches
He wants to fight back, but the more he tries
The bigger and deeper his open wound gets”
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Ruthless sunrays burn his skin
They vanish the desire and fantasy
They suffocate the breath of survival
Because of delirium and killing
They can't distinguish names anymore...
Under the morning sun they walk dressed in shackcloth
Banned from existence by misery
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