Category: The immigrant

The immigrant

5. For my son

Phil Lister1 Comment

Sometimes I wish i could continue walking for an eternity

Searching forever for light

But knowing even if I crossed chasms

Seas and mountains

To the furthest reach of the world

I would never again find light

Because light has left me

And darkness will surround me

Forever

My son

I have only a photo

And the memories in my mind

If I was to ever lose them

Every time I close my eyes

I see him playing with his marbles

Eating his favourite food

Kissing his mother

Itching his arm when he wanted something

I still remember his voice

His sweet voice

His laugh when I told him a joke

I even miss seeing how he cried

When we comforted him

My god, you will decide for me

When it will be time

When I can hold my son’s hand again

I remember seeing those bastards

How they laughed

Down by the river bank

Pissing in the water

I took a discarded rifle

And I took aim

There were three of them

I could feel the air

Whistling ever so softly

I laid down on my chest

Out of their view

But close enough

I positioned myself

My breath faint

My eyes dry from the tears

I will make you suffer you fucks

And it won’t be quick

I had lost my family

My son

My reason to live

I focused on the one with his gun

For my family you fuck

Bang

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Credit to the beekeeper of allepo, christi lefteri

The immigrant

4. The computer screen

Phil Lister1 Comment

The computer screen blinks at me

Dusty keys touched by many hands

As if inviting me

Studying my reflection

Wondering if he has replied

I think about him often

Long lost and close

I could finally speak to him

Forever it seems he was distant

Now I could touch him again

Hold him in my arms

To tell him that I love him

But what will he think of me?

Would he be dissapointed?

Unable to protect his mum

A shell of myself

Unwanting for pity or shame

I cannot bear to look

Or be looked at

Not today or any day…

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The immigrant

3. Lemon blossom

Phil ListerLeave a comment

I loved to get up before the sunrise

To hear the prayers echoing in the sky

To arrive feeling the sun kissing my skin

That familiar noise coming from within

Being away from them was the hardest thing

My love for caring and what it brings

To look after them, all the hive

Broke my heart, when I was deprived

How I would watch the workers travel so far

Foraging lemon blossoms for their sweet nectar

I would nurture them, look after their health

For me it was them, there was nothing else

I loved to harvest, to collect the golden dew

Scraping carefully, that soft silky residue

Their job was to feed us, to pollinate the land

I would look after them with nothing but my hands

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The immigrant

2. If I could paint you a picture

Phil Lister2 Comments

If I could paint you a picture

Of the world outside

Smudging all the bitterness

Hoping it would subside

It’s so hard when I lie to you

Having to describe

Covering all the chaos

By telling you my lies

Even if it’s to protect you

To hide the truth from you

I don’t want you to worry

I do the best I can do

Thinking of the day

That everything changed

What normal must look like

How it must be strange?

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The immigrant

1. Am I good enough

Phil Lister9 Comments

I can’t look into her eyes for shame

Although she cannot see my pain

My beautiful wife sitting there

Can’t help herself, she can only stare

Playing with our sons car in her hand

He used to play with it, in the sand

She used to laugh, I remember how

That has all changed, this is now!

“Dear I am in pain, behind my eyes”

I bow to look, I don’t know why?

“When can I see a doctor?” she pleads

“When we get some papers” I conceed

As I look out the curtain and ask myself why

Unresponsive as I stare at the sky

Sometimes I am glad that she cannot see

But what does that say about selfish old me

What would be her reaction? Would she still love?

Her pathetic husband, am I good enough?

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