My boy is eighteen today
He didn’t die in the shallow waters of a Turkish beach.
He wasn’t carried high on his father’s shoulders
at the storming of the Macedonian border.
He won’t sleep tonight in the subway beneath
Keleti station, nor will he run between cars
on the Calais motorway, or climb on the roof of a train.
Your boy will not see another birthday,
his suffering is over, his joy is over, his smile
is over. The bear he holds in the photo is over.
It keeps happening, over and over, on my screen
and in the water, on the road, the rail track,
while my boy wakes, and turns eighteen today.
What can I say?
Writers for Calais Refugees 
Says it all. Strong empathy and shows how chance of birth makes one boy safe and another not.
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Thank you, darkdreamer1313, that was the feeling that drove me to write it. Hx
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We really need to understand that everything we have is ours by good fortune. Good point well made.
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I agree. An important point.
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Indeed, the chance of birth, or country, or circumstance is brought home to us when we think about how very similar we all are.
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great initiative. I’m trying to do something similar with a group of actors. I think literature, art and theatre are important at times of crisis
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Thank you yes agreed. A voice of support showing people care is much needed.
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Reblogged this on smithsurf and commented:
Poem number 43: the Writers for Calais Refugees blog.
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Very moving and thought provoking, Helen. Zooming in on the child’s bear creates a heartbreaking image.
marion
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