I saw the steady flowing

stream of refugees

moving with a unity,

looking with a gaze resolute,

towards their land

of milk and honey,

away from death,

away from hate.


But in their way,

on dams and banks,

along the river

of their costly dreams,

there are those

who fear the risen stream;

and so they proclaim,

with voices loud

across the land,

that this steam will

overflow its banks

and then the deluge

will take away

all that is precious,

all that defines the meaning

of this place.


The river, though, continues

its trek across the land,

and forms its pools that stagnate,

and then become a morass;

but from behind

the steady and insistent stream

is driving forth,

is moving on,

is claiming new ground,

and nothing

can halt its pace.