Ghosts

We are all parents of a Syrian boy

The wind blew the young tree,
cut his ties to the means
and engrained of sand his teeth.

Stop to see.
                    It’s not the sea…

Tonight I will cry
by my son’s bedside.
Because he is alive.
There will be hundreds
who will cry there.
Because theirs are dead.

I will mend my soul
return to my norm.
Oblivion I can borrow,
as others we denied the sorrow.

[…]

Water welcomes new life,
water cuddles the still
facing south. Away from their will,
to arrive.
Away from home and quilt,
to die.

Sudden chaos of waves mixed.
The hand slips under the water.
Not one, but Hebe’s children!
-cry Father.
Tears wrecks silence the wind.

The salty fragrance, Mother!
She glided and claimed ascendance
as conqueror’s life couldn’t be another.
She rests now bone and sand to unbend
her God’s.

[…]

Famine houses, skeleton streets.
Bunker markets, cities under siege.
They mourned the guns and its deaths,
they caught the wind to hide their breaths.
They paid blood and soul.
And held, abandoned,
                                              by their hope.

Refugees,
migrants or asylum seekers.
Humans denied.
By those alive, their dialectic disagrees.

Time sandmaker crawls.
Drown in the shadows their crime!
With a reborn sorrow, cry!
Aftermath for time to borrow,
Poseidon is not defeated
watching the world, at his feet.

 

                                                                         In memory of all the world’s Aylans