From the purses of immigrants roll out candies
like not-blessed eye balls, right in front of our feet.
And just about to say Well Come, we
rather remain silent
as if ripping off the tree roots from its soil
or sending the raindrops back where they came from
locking up our dear immigrants, outside
till we lock ourselves into cells,
shrinking more and more.
Dear Immigrants | Sevgili Göçmenler
1 February 2017