For the torment in the hearts of the refugees fleeing Syria
who are trapped between a world destroyed and a future that is uncertain…
The little boy lay still,
fully clothed.
His lifeless body limp,
washed ashore.
Murdered by a tide of baseless hatred,
Of senseless terror.
Radiant dreams his parents held
Hope that flickered in their heart
An open  flame on a gusty day.
Miles away I watch
the crisis unfold.
Tears stream down my cheeks,
Stories of pain, of families torn
who have given up all they have known
They walk miles
Wait on railway tracks
Charter hostile waters
starved, parched
in pursuit of  simple joys, peace,
and a sense of togetherness without fear
only to be cruelly turned away !
Stories of mothers who yearn to cook
a meal for the ones they love,
Of fathers who cherish the day they
will come home to watch their little ones
play in abandon,
a day without violence, without terror.
I cry because
I live their dream and yet
I fret about
a pile of dirty dishes
(remnants of a meal well enjoyed)
toys strewn around
after a playdate
(The house still echoes with the laughter
of children allowed to express joy freely)
no bombs falling, no bullets flying.
They risk their lives for this …
their utopia.
I cry because I now value
my mundane perfect life


  1. Once again you’ve grabbed my heart and wrenched it like a bloody dripping towel. And bravo, this time you freed yourself from rhyme. Life is perspective and Utopia demonstrates that so beautifully.

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