By Deng Duot

Dimma Refugee Camp
June 2004

The actual moment,
Of Exile,
Is like an illness.
You are ill,
With rage.

To each family,
It means closing the door,
On friends, culture, your native country.

One year is an exile,
Compared to ten years.

Ten years,
Means nothing,
In the history of the country.

But for a human being,
Is a long time.
For a child,
A life time.
Some of us,
We're born in Ethiopian camps.

Peace is 'round the corner,
What I call home,
Will still be,
Another exile.
Because,
I don't know home.

What an irony,
To become a refugee.

[14-year-old Deng Duot, a Sudanese refugee, presented this poem
during the 2004 World Refugee Day commemorations in Ethiopia.]