A border traced by mortal hands,
A law inscribed on shifting sands.
A sovereign right to guard the gate,
Yet burdened by a heavy weight.
To cast away, to bid farewell,
A duty served—but must it quell
The dignity that each one bears,
The pain, the hope, the silent prayers?
They cross the seas, they chase the light,
They toil beneath the moon’s soft sight.
Yet papers fade, and doors are barred,
While exile grips with hands too tight.
Cold iron clasps a weary soul,
Not for crime, yet harsh control.
A journey home, but void of grace.
Averted eyes, an embrace of shame.
Yet laws can stand and still be kind,
A tempered heart, a just design.
No chains, no fear, no cruel decree.
A hand to guide, a mind set free.
For nations strong need not disdain,
Nor wield their might to deepen pain.
A sovereign stand, yet justly made,
With mercy held, not love betrayed.