Hello, My name is Ethan Baker.
I have written three poems about a Syrian boy who escapes Syria, and comes to America. All three of these poems are based on actual events that happened to actual people. If you want to hear their stories, there are links at the bottom of my post.
Enjoy,
Poem #1 My Diploma
By Ethan Baker
Above the dust and haze,
shellings resounded through the wind.
Machine gun fire replaced the sound of children playing,
and neighbors chatting.
As my fingers reached
the splintering door frame
of my house,
with a rusted roof,
and filled with dust,
A call came.
In a quivering voice
it pleaded,
“Honey,
Please don’t go to
school.”
I replied,
“Mom,
We’re all afraid,
But our determination to graduate
is stronger than our
fear.”
Then,
after a pause,
she reached out and hugged me.
As if for the last time.
I helped my mother pull her bag up onto the bus,
coated with dirt.
After she boarded,
I followed her to the back of the bus
Where I set my bag down.
An aura of sweat and heat
rose from all sixty of us,
as another family piled on.
Yes, it was terribly uncomfortable,
but it brought me great joy
when I looked down at my bag,
and saw peeking out of it,
My diploma.
Poem #2 On this sea of sand, On this ocean of death
By Ethan Baker
It was the fourth day
On this wrinkled vessel.
This hunk of ship.
I sat with my mother
on the crowded
deck.
Every breath I took
filled my nose with
the burning salt
of the sea.
*Clang*
A thundering crash,
metal to metal,
came from over the
rusted handrails
in front of me.
I clambered up them
to see
another ship,
ramming a hole
in ours.
As the water filled our hull,
on the other ship,
they laughed.
*Crack*
It was the fourth day
on this sea of sand.
On this ocean of death.
My mother and I,
we both held on
to the same
inner-tube.
It was all we had.
My eyes were closed.
I was too hungry,
too thirsty,
too tired
to do anything else.
A call came.
In a quivering voice
it pleaded,
“Honey,
I can't do this,
I can't go on
like this.
I’m,
I’m too weak,
I won’t make it.”
I replied,
”Mom,
we’re all tired,
but we have come so far,
the journey is
almost over,
I can see the end.
Please.
Please mom.
Don't give up now.”
Then,
after a pause,
she hugged me.
as if for the last time.
“I’m sorry.”
She slid off the inner-tube.
..
One day later,
a helicopter circled
overhead.
Poem #3 Xenophobia
By Ethan Baker
At 11 p.m.,
the metro clicked along its tracks.
Inside,
a young
blond boy
sat beside me,
in the train car.
I looked towards the boy.
He wore a baseball cap,
and baggy denim jeans.
He glanced at me,
from the corner of his eye.
I smiled at him,
and after a moment,
he grinned back,
and giggled a little.
My smile
widened.
Then,
the mother,
without looking,
took his cheek
with her fingers
and pushed his smile away from me.
I turned my head back.
My smile was gone.
Links:
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