I haven't been on here in a while. It's not my blog, it's me. The election hit me hard and didn't feel like posting for a while, and then... I didn't feel like posting for a while anyway. This is hard!
I won't post about news stuff here. Many others are covering that far better than I, and it's not hard to find. But one issue has been hitting me hard for quite some time. It's not election related, or at least wasn't until recently. It's about the refugee crisis, particularly in regards to Syria. I've been following that with an ever-sinking heart, and most recently read about the little boy found lying in the street (there's a video too, but...no. Oh, gods, NO). Eight years old. Legs blown off by a bomb. Crying for his father. I was useless for the rest of the night. I was shaking, I was so upset. And half the reason I was upset was not the tragedy itself (that was the other half). I was wondering, where are all the posts? Where is the outrage on behalf of these people, these human beings who never asked for this, who, even if they attempt to escape this atrocity are met with coldness? It inspired me. I wish I could do more, but I can't manage to pack up and volunteer, and right now I don't even have any money to send. So, I'm a writer. I started thinking about it, and this popped into my head. I don't normally write poetry, but, well... rather than blather on any further, here is what I came up with. Enjoy. Or don't. Either way, I had to get this out. Thank you for listening. Nobody's Child A mute shell, dust-haired He sits in a daze. The world's heart breaks Astounded, amazed This angel, new symbol Of suffering, pain Pouring out what should be A permanent stain Until the news is not new It's been done before And he's Nobody's Child Not Anymore. He lies in the street Looking up at the sky Legs that might have been his Rush on by. "Pick me up, Daddy!" He cries to the air. The world again looks in For a moment of care. What a poor little man. Family torn apart Mother and sister dead? I'll give him a "heart". That should just about Even the score. And he's Nobody's Child Not Anymore. They sit in their new "home" For that's what it's called Poles strapped to canvas Too quickly installed Winter is coming No blankets to give Little water, little food All they ask is to live. In a strange country With its own problems, own poor And they're Nobody's Children Not Anymore. Why do they have to come here at all? Why did they try to escape, to leave? Why don't they stay and try to repair Their own problems, so they'll have none to grieve? It's not up to us We're not like them We live in a place good and true. Yes, we're the smart ones Bad luck for them It sucks...but what can you do? My child sits within that daze My child lies upon that street My children sit inside that "home" Hoping desperately for heat. Your children trapped within those Borders wishing for escape. Your children cling to flimsy rafts, The only chance they can take. A tiny twinge of circumstance, Situations are reversed. Would they agree to help us If we needed it the worst? The world belongs to all of us We live and love the same All actions have their consequences This is not a game. The stakes are high and very real And no-one's keeping score. These are Everyone's Children. For Evermore.
1 Comment
2/20/2017 10:06:08 am
Lovely, in an awful, poignant way. Your use of the Twitter heart was well-placed.
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Rebecca FrohlingWriter, dancer, actress, mother, me. Archives
February 2019
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