Sep 2015
Like so many hundreds that day
He eventually reached his destination
The European shores of refuge
Dressed in his Sunday best
ready for Church in his new land
We stood by with our global media
to welcome him at the water’s edge
but he would not speak as usual
his mum said he was a shy boy
Still we clicked our cameras
beamed our global images
and moved on to the next story
He lay there alone – black and blue
watched by a policeman - unsure
how to handle this crime scene
not sure if it’s in his jurisdiction
a foreign child washed up
on the water’s edge
spewed out of the ocean belly
rejected twice – at home and in the sea
The meticulous autopsy revealed
that he had a swollen head
still full of grandiose stories and lies
told by his mum every night
fantasy stories that kept him warm as she dragged him
walking mile after mile after mile like weary soldiers
In his heart he carried memories of a new country
where he would be free of fear, have food to eat
be able to play with his sister - not worry that
his neighbourhood would be shelled again
He boarded the rickety boat – head held high
pretending to be a brave young man - even though
he was terrified of water and unable to swim
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking how cruel this mother could be
to put her child through a horror such as this
how could she make a child walk for miles and miles
how could she put him on an unsafe overloaded boat
how could she act illegally and so irresponsibly
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking why Europe needs to be burdened with Syrians
thinking why rich Arab countries will not take in their own
thinking why Christian countries have to give home to
Muslim fundamentalists opposed to the teachings of Christ
When I’m done with dose my self-righteous thinking
a child shows up on my flat screen TV
washed up on a lonely shore
I switch off the TV but his image haunts my dream
I see a Syrian child - head held high
walking out of the icy Mediterranean sea
leading a band of desperate children – exhausted, broken
scared, starving, smiling with renewed hope
My dream seems to end like the deMille classic
the Egyptian chariots sink into the bottom of the sea
The children are free in the land of milk and honey
Only this time, from the promised land of refuge
a thousand chariots or more come rumbling down
along train tracks, cargo vans and police trucks
rounding up children to transit camps
where death is sure
for a hundred, thousand
six million more
Stanley Arumugam
13 Sept 2015
He eventually reached his destination
The European shores of refuge
Dressed in his Sunday best
ready for Church in his new land
We stood by with our global media
to welcome him at the water’s edge
but he would not speak as usual
his mum said he was a shy boy
Still we clicked our cameras
beamed our global images
and moved on to the next story
He lay there alone – black and blue
watched by a policeman - unsure
how to handle this crime scene
not sure if it’s in his jurisdiction
a foreign child washed up
on the water’s edge
spewed out of the ocean belly
rejected twice – at home and in the sea
The meticulous autopsy revealed
that he had a swollen head
still full of grandiose stories and lies
told by his mum every night
fantasy stories that kept him warm as she dragged him
walking mile after mile after mile like weary soldiers
In his heart he carried memories of a new country
where he would be free of fear, have food to eat
be able to play with his sister - not worry that
his neighbourhood would be shelled again
He boarded the rickety boat – head held high
pretending to be a brave young man - even though
he was terrified of water and unable to swim
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking how cruel this mother could be
to put her child through a horror such as this
how could she make a child walk for miles and miles
how could she put him on an unsafe overloaded boat
how could she act illegally and so irresponsibly
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking why Europe needs to be burdened with Syrians
thinking why rich Arab countries will not take in their own
thinking why Christian countries have to give home to
Muslim fundamentalists opposed to the teachings of Christ
When I’m done with dose my self-righteous thinking
a child shows up on my flat screen TV
washed up on a lonely shore
I switch off the TV but his image haunts my dream
I see a Syrian child - head held high
walking out of the icy Mediterranean sea
leading a band of desperate children – exhausted, broken
scared, starving, smiling with renewed hope
My dream seems to end like the deMille classic
the Egyptian chariots sink into the bottom of the sea
The children are free in the land of milk and honey
Only this time, from the promised land of refuge
a thousand chariots or more come rumbling down
along train tracks, cargo vans and police trucks
rounding up children to transit camps
where death is sure
for a hundred, thousand
six million more
Stanley Arumugam
13 Sept 2015
“The migration crisis enveloping Europe and much of the Middle East today is one of the worst humanitarian disasters since the 1940s. Millions of desperate people are on the march: Parents are entrusting their lives and the lives of their young children to rickety boats and unscrupulous criminal syndicates along the Mediterranean coast, professionals and business people are giving up their livelihoods and investments, farmers are abandoning their land, and from North Africa to Syria, the sick and the old are on the road, carrying a few treasured belongings on a new trail of tears.”
