Refugee.

Am I a refugee
In my own country
Hounded, searched, trailed
and probed?
Handcuffed
Shackled
Questioned, jailed
punished, tortured
Spat upon, sneered at
Forced to strip,
left naked,
Hungry and thirsty?

Tell me:
What is my crime?
Spell it out!
Charge me in court!
Don't hide me here
In your smelly dungeons
Then call me cowards!
Bastards!

Should I flee
like a refugee?
From my own country?
Should I leave behind this
Godforsaken land?
The grass is greener
The sun shines brighter
On the other side.

My heart holds me back
My future needs me
The cries of my people
say "don't go".

I'm not a refugee
In my own country
I am the sons
and daughters of the soil
The sands and hills
On which my parents toiled
for generations
with their bare bloody hands.

Susan Loone, Penang, 12.56am, Jul 8, 2011.

Note: Please read the story behind this poem here.