Dying at the gates of Europe

They are dying at the gates of Europe

Whilst we look the other way

Mare Nostrum taking lives each day

A child’s body lying on a beach

Tells a story

Of a world he failed to reach

We stared awhile

And then forgot

Like skeletons they fall from a dusty truck

Parched bodies on the journey of hope

Seeking the trafficker and the boat

Willing to sacrifice to keep a dream afloat

Believing they will not become unstuck

In dingy cafes where smugglers lurk and prey

Wads of money passing into sweaty palms

All has a cost where there are no alms

A future they read and sung in psalms

Desire clouds reason, sense fades away

Orange jacket for a flimsy inflatable boat

For the rich the luxury of mobile phone

Sex demanded from those traveling alone

Children abused in a backstreet home

Just to keep expectation afloat

Overloaded boats capsize with the swell

Worldly possessions held in a plastic bags

Bodies tossed around like rags

Now corpses on the quay with tags

There is no sound from the Lutine Bell

They fled the bullet, sword and bomb

Fled the drought under a burning sun

Fled the flood that washed away their towns

Fled armies that had burned their homes

Then left alone whilst out at sea

Depths of the ocean became their cemetery

Whilst politicians argue about jus sanguinis and jus soli

Just to keep the children away

They are still dying at the gates of Europe

And we are still looking the other way

David Hopcroft March 2019