IDP is my Name
My house and my home everything was destroyed
enemies and people replaced and deployed
all my neighbours have run away, my village is overtaken
I joined to save my life distraught and stricken
I wish could go back but, I am frightened and forbidden
I’m an IDP a traumatised citizen
a hostage in my country no ransom would be given
the Sky became my roof, IDP is what I’m known for
my bed is the ground dirt, or a drenched muddy floor
I have no dignity or pride, I am overwhelmed by shame
no one remembers my old self, IDP is my new name
I have lost all my livelihood except a heart that is broken
I’ve joined other destitute, what they had was all taken
No one cares about my real name, I am the IDP here
in a make shift shelter, with no loved one near
suffering from hunger, despair and an ever-lasting fear
In 4 years, I became history, with no meaning to others
I lost my homeland, heritage and relics of my ancestors
overtaken by people who are unfamiliar squatters
I’m the displaced and the dispossessed
I don’t see any light, but desperate and distressed
My name stays as IDP, a forgotten entity
I remain a statistics a figure of infinity
I have become a scavenger, begging for piece of bread
many next to me are dying some have already fled
three years have passed, I still remain as a slogan
Written on a placard ‘let the IDPs return’
I’m the dispossessed, the traumatised citizen
I’m a subject of discussion, my situation stays the same
justice is a coverup, power remains the central game
I don’t see much hope in a confusing post-war mess
no international community no politician that cares
My name is an IDP, I have no known address
Where I will be next year, is just a matter to guess
I’m the displaced citizen even I forgot my name
known as the IDP last year, the year before, still remain the same
the constant thing is my dead soul, my weak body, heavy stigma and shame
I am the dispossessed, the displaced, and IDP is my known name
By JB