WIXLIB

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1 (Grades 4 to 6)If the World Could Be OneIf the world could be one,Would we make the right choices?Would we know what the right choices are?If we made mistakes,Would we fix them or leave them?Could we trust each other or will our rivalries from our ancestors interfere?Would war be over or would it just be starting again?Would we accept our responsibilities or would we put them off and break the chain?If the chain broke,Would we mend it or would we split off into different groups and never rejoin it as one?Are we on the right road to success?Or do we need to slow down and thinkWhat is success?We all do,Inch by inch, step by step, mile by mile,Help out on the way,In order,For the world to be,One.Samantha RiddellCosburn Middle School, Grade 5Age 113rd Prize – 200960 Years in Photos UNHCR/E.Hockstein/August 20096

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I (Grades 7 to 8)AwardRecipientsGroup 1I (Grades 7 to 8)Here I standI AmI had a home,Somewhere far beyond the horizonFreedom, health and nutritionThings I had in reach,Now, it all lies in the ashes below.I am a child working at the age of five.I am a human being tortured – in the form of a girlI am looking for a better life healthier water happiness I am an orphanI am the death in poor countries I am the reality of poverty.I am a slave, thrown into prison for disobeying.I am an open-minded refugee giving back all that’s known.I am a bomb that falls apart in war I am sorrow.I am holding on to the terrible past but letting go of the wonderful future.I am hiding for shelter just to live and looking for joy to live out the pain.I am a disgrace for some cultures and a subject of racism.I am a mother fighting for her children’s rights.I am a life dropping like a roller coaster.I am a refugee but no one seems to care.I am drowning in my own tears.I am shouts of freedom.I am dying before I am born.I am an empty plate for hungry stomachs and a burden in my parents’ eyes.I am sold away to an unknown world.I am culture after culture being split apart.I am raising my voice, but then I die I am discrimination.I am dirty water in the fresh water pond.I am alone, growing my own home.I have suffered enough, and now I deserve joy but still I am a refugee calling out for rights.There is no space where i stand,Under the deep holes pierced by bombs,Hidden between all the peopleSoaked in blood and vomit,Here I stand.A weary cry comes from below.A sound which has no hopeI listen carefully,And I hear it again.Now the crowd is silently moving.And the voice whimpers as the people push,All wanting to be the first, to the promised land.I have little faith,In my soul.Only, I reach outWith my battered hands for the small childCrying in anguish.Here I stand; unknown.Jenny JeonGerman Mills Public School, Grade 8Age 14Amrit Kaur BabbarMorning Star Middle School, Grade 7Age 121st Prize – 20101st Prize – 20117

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I (Grades 7 to 8)EscapeJust One WordI could taste the flavour of our vivid nation on my tongue,which the hostility and bloodshed managed to dilute.For I cherished its warmth,embraced the spirit,and counselled its youth.Doubts and worries run through our headsWe think the same thoughtsIs he okay?Yet with my entire body trembling,I laid down on the racked surface I knew as the floor.Tears streamed down my rueful face,as the sun’s rays beat down on my broken body,and I yearned to flee through the door.The aching in my heart simply wanted relieffor any remedy to chase away the fear.Each day the tears became greater,flooding my distressed soul that knewof the heartless soldiers marching near.With escape as my only choice,my heart began to race.I choked on my breath as sweat trickled down my skin,and desperately prayed for grace.My sister and I packed our entire lives,into a mere few torn up bags.Kissed the village goodbye,and grasped each other’s shaking hands.Mercedes KilleenChrist the King, Grade 8Age 131st Prize – 20098Was coming here right?Was he afraid?Could he understand?Could they understand?Finally we goTo pick him up from his first dayWe wait, tense, for him to tell us how it wasHe gives a happy smile and says, simple,“Good.”Relief floods over us, as we relaxThe teacher tells us how wonderful it wasHe fits right in, and for this, we beamAt our son’s “good”Small, but can make all the differenceIn the worldJust one wordCaelan BeardHomelands Senior Public School, Grade 8Age 132nd Prize – 2011

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I (Grades 7 to 8)Human Rights: Giving The Issue More Than aSecond ThoughtClose your eyes, look away.Turn a blind eye to the hard fact that855 000 000 people are illiterateAnd 70% of those peopleAre women.Think about starving yourself to be skinny,As 15 million children die each yearBecause they can’t choose if they want to starve or not.Don’t think about howFor the price of one missileA school full of hungry children could eat lunch every dayFor 5 full years.Why should we care that in 1991,Indonesian troopsShot hundreds of mourners at the Santa Cruz CemeteryIn Dili, East Timor?After all, it’s not happening to us.Until it does.Until it’s our relativesWho can’t enter America.Or can’t eat because the war drove them from their homes.Or are killed for no good reason.Then we care.Because it turned in to our problem.Simona PresuttoSt. Monica School, Grade 8Age 132nd Prize – 2010Through the Eyes of a RefugeeWhy we long for homeI hear the fear in her voice,when my mother tells me.“It’s a new start, a better life”I should be relieved that I am leaving this place.That I’m going somewhere “safe”.Why we long for home?Why we left the place we roam?Why we hear, the cries at night?Why we long, for something in the light?Why we long for home?It is so hard not knowing where I’m going,But knowing where I come from feels much worse.We left a land, the gunshots sounding.Leapt out of the plane, our hearts now pounding.Allowed in with ease.We are now, in peace.Why we long for home?I wonder who I’ll be,or who I’ll meet.How will I communicate?Will I make any friends?Where will I sleep?Why am I so frightened of what is supposed to beA better life?It is so hard not knowing where I’m going,But knowing where I come from feels much worse.Calvin WooDonview Middle School, Grade 7Age 113rd Prize – 2011I am a coward, running away from my fears.I’m running away from the only life I have.No! I’m not a coward!I am brave.I am turning away from wrong.I am doing what’s right.It is so hard not knowing where I’m going,But knowing where I come from feels much worse.Sherubine Tara ThevamarorathanSt. Gabriel Lalemant, Grade 8Age 142nd Prize – 20099

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I (Grades 7 to 8)I am a stranger but for that one smileEscapeI am a strangerIn this placeWhere my family has run toThey whisper behind usBut I hear themStepping into feet that aren’t my ownI leave barren streets, ransacked homesWhy talk, when no one can understandThe language that I speak?Why learn, when I cannot understandThe language they teach in?Why try, when they do not know meWhen I am alone?Living in exile, fleeing from those who discriminate,Just because I’m different they try to eliminate,Why not quit?I almost doBut for that one smileThat is given by the teacherWho is trying to helpAnd sometimes succeedsThe one smileThat keeps me in this placeTrying as I canFor that one smileCaelan BeardHomelands Senior Public School, Grade 7Age 12Tear streaked faces and calloused hands,Presently inhibited in unknown, foreign lands,Distinction between races, religion and nationality,Segregating due to age, gender, views on politics and socialityNow I’m always depending on others for food, clothing and securityUnable to get recognized as a person with equality –Made of flesh and bones as a human, I am similar to you,Why can you only see trivial things but not what’s really trueI may be unable to speak for myself but I too have human rightsAll this persecution has caused my people plightsPoverty, sickness, traumatic livesA pain that stabs me with a thousand knivesConstantly escaping and accepting the hateWhy is this the outcome of a refugee’s fate?All the world’s burdens are compressed down hereTo the oppressed victims who once lived with fear3rd Prize – 2010Ariana YoumUniversity of Toronto Schools, Grade 8Age 133rd Prize – 200910

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I1 (Grades 9 to 12)AwardRecipientsGroup I1I (Grades 9 to 12)Journeysshe was a dancer before they came andreplaced the jingle-jangle of her tambourine with the tom-tom of war drums creatingdiscordant harmonies against the hoarse voices screaming of divine will as theyburned the straw-thatched house row by blazing row untilnothing was left but charred skills and sated flies doing loop-de-loops under the summer sky(a picture perfect postcard from hell)he was a teacher before knowledge was treasonous anda taste for literature was rewarded with bullets and bayonets piercinghearts feeble from days spent writhing in torture chambers pressedto lead more lambs to the slaughter as if the spies installed at every street corner could notprovide enough fuel for the gluttonous bonfires and the murderous mobs(Both books and bodies become ash in the end)strangers are safe when friends carry rifles andfamily is strewn in pieces across the blood-soaked square sothey come with heads bowed low and hands clasped tight todisappear into the dizzying rainbow of a nation settled by diaspora thismosaic of shattered homes and splintered bones(in time dreams will exist again)Lily Li ZhangDon Mills Collegiate Institute, Grade 11Age 17COSTI Art Therapy Program for ChildrenWhere the Healing Process Begins1st Prize – 201111

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I1 (Grades 9 to 12)Losing IdentityAwake DreamingLook around, miles of flat fieldStretching into the horizon and beyondInto a world without fenceBut I’m here, in a world with no escape.I clutched onto my daughter, Snuggled against my chestHer, warm shallow breath comfortinghunched over, hundreds of us quivered in syncNo doubt, the night became marked with indelible inkTrapped.I speak like a parrotObey as a well trained houndA rotten tomato disguised as a shoeOut of placeForced to fit in.The shooting paused to take an air breakI listened.I don’t knowWhat’s scarier; the crackling gunshots’ laughterOr the sucking silence afterDream catchers clasp onto my ill thoughtsGiving me tranquil, dreamless nightsPity, it couldn’t catch meLeaving me in brutal realityA once comforting current carrying countless coloursNow a mere stream of useless blueCreamy deer hind, cozy coatSwitched to savvy jeans and t-shirtsCommon rituals, giveaways, rolled intoWeekly Sunday prayersSlowly that Native Brown fadesAnd from head to toe I feelA bleach white silently seeping inWho am I?Anna XuMarc Garneau Collegiate Institute, Grade 10Age 151st Prize – 201012In my arms, my daughter sleptEver so contentIgniting a desire that burned within meThe want to be freeOverwrought of injustice, as the rich flee in search of havensBuying their freedomThe rest of us trapped, long forgotten, by even the saintsFlowers of zinc corrode away, which no one cares to repaintPeace, prayed the souls under the tentIn hushed voicesNever dared we, express the truth, our most genuine thoughtsNor have we ever been to school, been taughtJust as crowds of yellow ants wait under sheets of layered clouds, for the sun toreappear and warm their tender crisp bodies,So we long for rights and freedom, to do ourselves just.Then will I, savour the aroma of free speechAnd its aftertaste, in the following silence.Anna XuMarc Garneau Collegiate Institute, Grade 9Age 141st Prize – 2009

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I1 (Grades 9 to 12)Silent CriesMy Life in AfricaReeking of old fish and dried blood, he standsAlonePlaying tug-of-war with a worn fishing rod,Its shaped etched into his calloused palm.His once smooth face, now buried in deep wrinkles,Gazes at the distant horizon as he waits.Yo,Yo,Yo I come from AfricaThere’s some bad stuff going on in my country, dawgI wish the government can just leave us aloneI was all dressed ready for school but I keepforgetting that there is no schoolAh man, Ah man, Ah manI was really thirsty, I was trying to find some cleanwater, but all I can find is dirty water Yuck,Yuck,YuckI was really hungry, I got my cash but I keepforgetting there’s no MC, MC, McDonald’s or PizzaNova, Nova, NovaSo I grabbed my weapons and started heading out, out, outThen when I came back to my hut, I was torturedand beaten, beaten, beatenI jumped on a plane and headed for the GreatWhite North of Canada where there is good, waterand freedom, freedom, freedomI now go to school at Cardinal Newman Newman,Newman but I still get beaten down, beaten down,beaten down by Mrs. Taylor – she’s funny as a hyenain my hometown, hometown, hometownSo now that you know about my life in Africa, thegood, the bad and the ugly I’m glad to share myrapping poem with you as Canada is always there for you, you, you.With the jerk of the handle, he begins winding the reel butPausesAs he catches a glimpse of his past,A part of himself he had long tried to forget.The fish dangles desperately,Wrigging to unhook itself from the spring pulling it from above.Like a marionette controlled by a puppeteer, he had beenManipulated.He was given no choice but to play the role of a man,Blind from the propaganda of strong powersDeaf from the piercing lies of forces so highBut also mute, having no voice.The flood of memories slowly drowns the fisherman butSuddenlyHe remembers a hand that reached out to him, shining as a his single strand of hope.Likewise, the man quickly clenches the fish and unhooks it,Watching it swim away into deep waters,Coming from its mouth, not an inescapable string but a joyous cry of freedom.Alice JeonHavergal College, Grade 10Age 16Joshua Collin-PereiraCardinal Newman Catholic Secondary School, Grade 9Age 152nd Prize – 20102nd Prize – 201113

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I1 (Grades 9 to 12)He WeptAll alone he stoodOutlined in the shadows of the moonWith the tears only an innocent child could shedHe wept for the worldThat had long ago forsaken his destinyHe wept for the motherThat never held him close and called him sonHe wept for the fatherThat those men that called themselves hero had takenHe wept for the sisterThey had raped in front of him as if it was a gameHe wept for the brotherThat had turned his back on him to become one of themHe wept for the grandparentsThat were lucky enough to not see the day their family would be torn to piecesHe wept for the friendsThat he would never get to tease or laugh with againHe wept for livingAnd seeing the day they had to leaveHe wept for himselfFor never again would he have a familyA homeAndSomeone to love him as much as they didHe wept because god had forsaken himAnd never again would he beThat same little boy14HomeI come from a house of crumbling stone wallswhere the ceiling stretches up to the stars in the skyNo windows or doors to speak ofNo marble pillars of supportNo safety or warmthOnly a place to stayWhen I was young I used to longFor a house with four walls and a roofGlass windows that let in the sunshinebut kept out the windwooden doors and marble pillarsand a heater to keep us warm.But time has passed and I have grownI no longer seek that futile dreamFor though the battles still rage endlessly outsideI am safeWalls built from bricks of courageA ceiling laced together with hopeNo windows or doors – only my eyes and earsNo marble pillars of support-only mama and papaNo need for heaters, for our love is enoughThis is not a just placeIt is my home.Heena GahlonEmery Collegiate Institute, Grade 11Age 16Milly WangMarc Garneau Collegiate Institute, Grade 11Age 172nd Prize – 20093rd Prize – 2011

Poems: Award Recipients / Group 1I1 (Grades 9 to 12)A Familiar PlaceAsylum seekerWe run, not lookingBack on the place,The memories, the music of theFamiliar wind through the trees.Asylum seekerThe caption below the pictureUncertain it is,Certainly.In a dark locked roomIt is thrown away.We cannot speakNo, not a word,They are comingOne cannot stand up against them.Do we not deserve?Look! We have two hands,Two feet, a heart, a mind.‘Tis the same as you.We live.The strange light,The innocent fingersReach for it.We can speak again.The beginning of a new lifeOh, how we missThe music of the familiar place.Picture that took my breath away for a secondClosed my eyes for anotherAnd in the same second my eyes closed,A single water drop from my eyes to my chinThe single drop cut like a razor bladeIn that tearIn that second of her untold words became so clearOut of thousands her face jerkedShe had a shelter but not a homeNot a shelter for longThis new land was unknownForced to this unknown landHer culture was lostHer family forgottenHer baby was ravenousBut she had nothingBut through her eyes she spokeAnd she had hopeHope that this land would be a start and not an endChildren enjoying a walk at the COSTIRalph Chiodo Family Immigrant Reception CentreYanina AhumadaJames Cardinal McGuigan, Grade 10Age 163rd Prize – 2009Shraboni BiswasTurner Fenton Secondary School, Grade 12Age 173rd Prize – 201015

P O P U L AT I O N S O F C O N C E R N T O U N H C R[as at january 2010]SubregionCentral Africa and Great Lakes(2)East and Horn of AfricaWest Africa(3)Southern AfricaNorth Africa (4)The Middle East (5)South-West Asia (6)Central AsiaSouth Asia(7)(8)South-East AsiaEast Asia and the Pacific (9)Eastern EuropeSouth-Eastern EuropeCentral EuropeNorthern, West and Southern EuropeNorth America and the CaribbeanLatin AmericaTotal11616UNHCR Global Appeal 2011 19,72030,8401,466,920444,96074,1908,806,880Persons 28030,8401,466,920444,960367,37010,396,550Of whomassisted 6903,94

Eden Schwartz Cosburn Middle School, Grade 6 Age 12 2nd Prize – 2009 poEms: AwArd rEcipiEnts / Group 1 (GrAdEs 4 to 6) Someone Else’s Work I will grow tomatoes, when you’ve set me free. I will live at home in peace, where all will let me be. I will wake up cheerful, in the morning to