Sudanese Refugees In Omaha Wrestle With Rise Of Street Gangs
Born of dust storms of Sudan,
Children of drought
Dreamers of Nile,
When Northern soldiers came,
We trudged for days across parched land,
Sleeping sons on our backs,
To razor wire of refugee center.
Flight to America,
Our greatest hope
Nebraska, a green prayer on thirsty tongues.
We met snow and hail,
Shot out windows and tenement homes.
Murderous bullets each Friday night
Death stalks our sons,
From Sudan to America
We long for green fields,
Quiet plains,
A small, safe harvest.
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