Melodic Anthology of Poems

THE PILGRIMAGE Lo and behold, from the dusty hands that till the land with ancient hoe; where water is farfetched with groan. Where the scourging brazing sun is immune to the skin like a liquid paraffin that made their skin thick and beauty to withstand all harsh weathers. Where hunger and poverty are prevalent in their midst as norms. The thought of seeking solace and refuge abroad from abject poverty, was a driving and a motivating factor prompted a pilgrimage. They sought help collectively from families, sold land and cattle in order to embark on an unknown beginning not knowing the end journey either sweet or sour. They hid their fears, tears, uncertainty and torture on the weigh of hope, aspiration, endurance and perseverance. Millions of walks through the desert with no water, bare footed with some shekel in their tunic; only Hope that is their courage and sustenance. Some rode on Carmel’s back or cart. Some pass-through treacherous rivers on canoe or inflated boats. Risking all for the sake of families and wanting a dream better life abroad. Some died on the way, some made it half way, some made it. They left, they saw, they pass through the unthinkable, some conquered, some were consumed in their quell for stardom to the Western world. The torture, imprisonment, hunger, molestation were their consolation prizes. Their pains and agony were hiding beneath the hope of laughter of been intricately sad within and outwardly pretending to be happy was their motivational drive to forging ahead against all odds by damning all consequences. O west, the long hoped for, a place of fallacy where milk and honey flows continuously. Where no sun shine but the moon break early to rise. Where no brick houses ever existed. Where you don’t work and you get paid freely by the government. Where everything worked as planned. Where issues have no place. Alas! They soon found out that, all they envisage about the west were all false hope, a mirage, an imagination and a dream that was never true as they presumed. Their dreams were shattered with reality on ground. The West is not the heaven painted with gold or where go and get free money from the Automated Teller Machine. No angels stand beside the coterminous gates, but iron bars, sniffer greyhound and men in uniform grimly bidding them welcome and asking for your passage authorisation. They are strictly scrutinized by names, by their skin colour and the passport they hold determines what the laws, rules and regulations say, after interrogation for entering approval. Sometimes their freedom and passage are denied for the best-known reason of creed, the man that feeds on blame with the inscription as “Illegal”. Here the deal is done, their hope and aspiration are thwarted. They are shown the four walls or less loss to roam about freely in an open prison before been caught as an overstayer and sent to prison and bound with chains and fetters deported like a fugitive with nothing to home country. They are received in shame and all hope gone; all dreams shattered. Where is the hope and the wasted years? What is the proof of actually been overseas? Some came back empty with nothing and worst more than how they were before they left. Where are the riches envisaged and dreamt for? Shame of failure and emptiness they came with. Debtors were at their door step awaiting the return of the borrowed money with interest. Family names and prestige thrown in the mud. Judge not, condemn not, mock not; for their failures or predicament. Sometime, is not of their making, but of circumstances beyond their control. You never can tell where the wind goes. “He who wears the shoes knows where it hurt most”. If you have not been a victim of economic migrant or an overstayer, you know nothing of the mental torture, pains, fear for the unknown and the struggle of survival they go through. “you don’t tell a child not to go leprosy, if only he/she can live in the bush alone” lend a helping hand, if you can, for you never can tell the side which the pendulum swings next, it might be in your direction. So, never say never. No one knows what tomorrow holds towards your own pilgrimage?