(Lines written after seeing the photo of the body of a little Syrian boy washed up on the beach of Bodrum, a Turkish resort town, as the family were trying to escape by boat to Greece. Tragedy of the 5 year Syrian Civil War. 3rd/10th September 2015)
The little boy
(A Kurdish toddler
In red shirt and blue shorts)
Washed up on the beach
Of Bodrum, a Turkish resort,
Far away from home.
The sea weeps over his lifeless body,
Washing him with her foam.
He is wearing little shoes,
With velcro straps (one strap loose);
He is lying there, face
Half-buried in the sand.
And the Aegean washes over his body
In gentle surges,
Caressing him with her doleful,
My eyes well up with tears;
The image hurts.
The tragedy of the Syrian war, between
Sunni Arabs, Shiites and repressed Kurds!
A quarter of a million dead,
Four millions fled;
Through a hoary, ancient nation.
The tide of refugees is swelling,
Its waves rushing in,
Tearing through Europe’s coasts
And borders with barbed wire fence.
(It’s a Muslim invasion,
The Hungarians sense.)
Countries in panic shut their doors;
They cry out, “We can take no more!”
Embraces these poor, tormented souls.
O mothers of the world,
I mourn with you!
I weep for the tragic loss
Of this innocent victim of desperate straits.
My long-complacent, uncaring heart
Is torn apart.
My soul aches.
The little boy hides his face;
But will humanity hide its shame?
Callous nations close their eyes,
Wash their hands off,
Pass on the blame!
Oh, this is such a huge disgrace!
I see humanity condemned to the hilt.
The dead child points to collective guilt.