Many thousands of words have been written in recent days, discussing the plight of refugees from the Middle East , seeking safety in Europe . Yet the impact of some of the photographic images has been so much greater, none more so than that of three year old Aylan Kurdi face down on a Turkish beach, having drowned at sea. It was reminiscent in its impact of the picture of a nine year old girl Kim Phuc, in Vietnam from 1972, when after a napalm attack, she was photographed running naked, badly burned, from her village. It is said that publication of that image hastened the end of the war in Vietnam .

 The two pieces that follow arose from pictures. I can say no more

 TRACKS 

Names of battlefields remembered
are the insistent punctuation marks of history.
Each field, raised ridge or beach,
each patch of sea or open sky,
is a word lightly spoken enclosing
in a few carefully arranged, familiar letters
the agony of the fight.

In our time, we add to this timeless list
feed the fire of anger with outrageous prose
and casually spend our wealth in pursuit
of that self-same direction.

As we talk, people with little hope
walk or ride the tracks of Europe ,
pressure points of pain
night time after day light, come again.

THE SILENT WORD

 “Was I sleeping, while others suffered?

Am I sleeping now?

Tomorrow, when I wake or think I do,

What shall I say of today?

That Estragon my friend, at this place,

Until the fall of night, I waited for Godot?”

Vladimir :    Waiting for Godot:    Samuel Beckett

Slowly walk the water line of a deserted beach

watch the breaking surf

bring seaweed, plastic, broken wood to landfall

after storm.

 
Do not be unduly surprised

by finding the small form

of a drowned boy, lost at sea,

brought back by the tide

to rest face down on the sand.

Scream, if you can

Cry, if you must

Pray, if you know how                                                          

but do not ignore the silent word he utters.

Don’t wait at the cross roads near Giacometti’s tree

but gather in your arms his lifeless  presence,

wave-washed, under a summer sun.

END

------