Thursday, 5 January 2017

The most beautiful sea: hasn't been crossed yet.
We are on boats
Toppled over each other
Holding on and trying
Looking out for a shore
Dying looking
Under the shade of Alan Kurdi, the first
Second, thirds and everyone that follows
The umbrella name
Till we soak the blue red
And leave no sea to cross.

The most beautiful child: hasn't grown up yet.
Curled up in a womb
Trampled by boots righting the wrongs
Blood chromosome home you us i me
Wrong wrongs
The most beautiful died a foetus
Never to grow up.

Our most beautiful days: we haven't seen yet.
Pitch-pellet-black eyes
Burns as we fight for the day
The day the cold of your shadow
Numbs no child of ours
The day you do not want us to see.

And the most beautiful words I wanted to tell you
I haven't said yet.
Cocoons of privileges and insecurities and power
Drown screams
Cull out ink from blood
But, listen
Our words aren't far.

- 8 December 2016