Moving. Clearly his experience left a lasting impression on him.
Hooshyar attended a WEA Politics and Public Life course in Sheffield a few years ago. He wrote this poem about his experience of arriving in the UK as a refugee and translated it from Farsi himself. Listening to him reading this in the House of Commons some time ago left a lasting impression on me.
I approached a sorrowful sunset,
I was dead, and all that remained of me
Was my tiny name.
My tiny name,
Soaked frightened and tired,
Reached the shore.
searched deeply the island’s trees
Was tiny and nice.
Was huge and ugly.
Was the far end of the world.
It was only my mother, who knew it
And a kind friend,
Who was my childhood playmate.
But later, when we grew up a bit,
He pointed his gun at my face.
And the Island
View original post 68 more words