Aylan Kurdi

One child on a sandy beach.
What's his name you ask?
Aylan Kurdi, that's what I've read.

Aylan went around the world, didn't he?
Yes,Europe, Turkey, the Middle East, North and South hemispheres.
Aylan went around the world, didn't he?
Yes, everyone knows his name, the look of his small face and tiny body.

His life wasn't worth much,
or not as much as his death, so it seems.
Get them westerners crying and shocked.
They're slow to care. Give them something sensational.

One child on a sandy beach.
What happened to him? you ask
Death was after him and he got caught.

Aylan went around the world, didn't he?
Yes, faster than his tiny feet ever dreamt of.
Aylan went around the world, didn't he?
Yes, he got into the wealthiest capitals, famous places.

His cries on the boat weren't loud enough,
No one heard him, or if we did we got scared.
But his silenced life is like the fog that spreads
Sudden and quick, bearer of bad news.

One child on a sandy beach.
What is he trying to say? you ask
He is saying "Make it stop".

Aylan went around the world, didn't he?
Yes, so let's make it count and hear the cries of those who still live.
Aylant went around the world, didn't he?
Yes, so let's give him rest and the promise that we'll care for those behind him.

Aylan went around the world, just a little too late.
One child on a sandy beach was seen just a little too late.




Today I gave away colourful jumpers, trainers, scarves and hats.
It sounds so vain even to say this. "I gave away"... "I did the grand action of seperating myself from nice items I like, in a grand gesture".
No. I am just desperate to do my little bit, just a little too late.
I am no saint and know nearly naught about this conflict.
But last night I saw Aylan, his small face and tiny body washed up on a shore.
Aylan went around the world, to the wealthiest capitals, reached the hearts of mothers, fathers, politics.
Aylan went around the world, traveled faster than his tiny feet could have ever dreamt of.
Aylan went around the world, first as an anonymous child, then he gave us his name and he got in our homes.
Aylan went around the world just a little too late.
He went around the world because his death has more impact that his threatened life ever did.

We weight lives and conflicts, and his was, apparently, found wanting.
A little boy's life was found wanting when it came to urgency, value and importance.
His name is written with his blood and the blood of the other children, parents, uncles, aunts, grand parents, friends, fellow citizens who drowned, are drowning and will keep drowning until we understand.

The great West, measuring lives in terms of quota, money, risks, origins.
The great West leaving desperation at its door, because it's not desperate enough.
The great West so easily outraged with many a thing, but stands the sight of blood with self-control.
The great West that has big fat mouth but stands by and watches History being repeated.

I wanted to write a poem, but I can't . I have no time for rhymes, dictionnaries and pretty sentences.
History is being repeated. Genocides. Refugees. And we stand by.
Until it hits us? Until we understand that this world isn't ours, that we only are lucky things to be born where we are?
These children are our children too. These humans are our brothers and sisters. But we don't care enough

The Ancient tree

I am but a new leaf slowly growing on an ancient tree.
Far from a branch, a newborn shoot you can hardly see.
Fashioned by those before me, I am not my own.
Unique detail of a bigger picture, I can't fill the frame alone.
In my veins runs the effervescence of a thousand mothers,
The passion and strength of countless faithful fathers,


In the Ancient tree you can catch sight of my heritage,
Roots nurtured by faith, laughter roaming through the foliage
Perseverance and hope standing as the backbone of the tree
Courage, defiance adding up to forge a valuable legacy.

Look closer and you will find large numbers of children,
Tribes that can't be counted, tables covered in stained linen,
Afternoons filled with bike rides, role play, fairies and heroes,
And a love so deep it overcomes even the deepest of sorrows.

Between the tree's leaves, colourful flowers, and the branches' safety
At its core, you will unveil secrets of courage, rebellion and bravery.
History digged its claws in the bark when hatred and ignorance
Worked against innocence, but It stood, still, in stubborn resistance.
No amount of death and hell managed to extinguish the life of the Tree,
Though the marks are still there, Generations remember the lasting victory.

You will find intertwined joy, grief, welcoming arms, stories untold,
Hidden glory, chaotic lives, clumsy affection delivered by hearts of gold.
So is Family. There is no perfection, no entirely peaceful existence.
Only souls that cherish their bond, love and chose to go the distance.

As my days grow in number and my heart turns wiser
I see I am them and they are me, our names woven together.
I am but a new leaf slowly growing on an ancient tree.
Far from a branch, a newborn shoot you can hardly see.

Feminist.

The word that makes some shiver, other wonder.

Three syllables, the beat of growing thunder.

Some mutter, whisper, utter it truly means man-hater,

How could it be when the flag is in the hands of my Father?


If shouting and chanting "Equality!" is a sin,

Then, at conce find them guilty and count me in.

My difference doesn't lead to my deference,

My gender doesn't imply mindless obedience.


I am woman. I breathe, I hope, I plan and I feel,

I cry, I laugh, I fear, I have claws of steel.

The weight of the world causes my heart to strain

I sometimes try to deny it but it's all in vain.


They say that from a rib I came, second.

They say that I was meant only to be fecund.

I'm the helper, the one they forget and who forgives.

I have no room in their minds, no place to breathe.


I have things to say but will they let me speak?

They count my tears as a sign my heart is weak.

I am no man. I am the rib. Different but equal.

Shoulder to shoulder, we are soldiers in the same battle.


I wish for nothing but being allowed to exist,

A world where there's no need to fight and resist.

I wish for us to hold dear each other's existence,

To know our diversity comes from the same essence.


I am woman, not enemy. Lead by justice not fury.

I long for equality, that's why my eyes are teary,

I will never yearn to break, crush, reign or fight.

I simply ask for the freedom to burn bright.

Cold warmth.

Sunday afternoon and it falls on me with no warning

This familiar cloud, full of tears and reminiscing.

Melancholy comes in like an old friend with a knowing look, 

The one that walks in and knows the hows and whys

Without ever having to ask.

The cold warmth of grief wraps its wings around me.

At that very moment I don't shake it off, I let it sink in.

I know this feeling, it knows me and it fits in.

I won't keep it long, I can't feed it, have it around.

But this very second it's all I want. To soak it in.

I know I'll regret letting it in, but I can't help it.

It takes me back there, where it was still up in the air

When I had no idea what was to come and

Such innocence was bliss, sweet sweet felicity.

Memories rush in with smells, words and laughs.

For three seconds it all happened, it all came true.

We didn't part, I didn't have to heal over. 

Now grief is suffocating me. So firmly but gently

I undo its heavy, familiar and knowing wings.

I push the velvety polluted cloud away.

It has come and gone. One last visit, one last shot.

For now I kissed it goodbye,

I can't afford to dwell in this anymore.

Looks, memories, laughter, friendship and trust, 

All packed up in one small precious box.

I can't keep it and let it get covered in dust.

It has to go, leave my heart, out the door.

That grief knows the old me, the one tangled in emotions

.

So tight and deep I couldn't get it right.

The wings don't fit me anymore, I've outgrown them.

Out the door, the good and the hurt, the wishes

For another chance at it, for a take two.

I need a different warmth, another story to tell, 

I can't write a new novel with the same story line and characters.

Blank page, new pen, the world for an oyster. 

I need a new cloud so it, too, can become familiar

Spring breeze

Days are getting longer and nights warmer.


Spring is on its way, it’s nearly summer some would say.


In the season change hope buds are popping all over the trees of my heart.


They feel the sun’s warmth and think everything is shifting.


But clouds still come again, rain punctuates each day


And a chilly breeze hovers over my head.


The buds are growing stronger but I fear the Gardner’s scissors


That prune without warning.


It’s not that the Gardener is cruel, it’s just that I don’t like pruning all that much.


The birds are singing but does it mean sumemr has come?


The sea is still but is the wind really gone?


Winter has been long and hard. Slowly I am warming up.


The numbness is leaving me. I feel beautiful things.


I feel them deep and truly and I fear,


How I fear they’re only here to pass.

Dirty waters.

Where is my value, where is my worth?

Is it in the clamour on the streets

Or the songs of the birds?

Do I look for it in the pretense of this world,

Or in the kisses of a lover?

Do I run around, wanting for approval and affirmation?

Why is my soul restless and its thirst never quenched?

Why do I beg for love but find none?

My heart you look in all the wrong places.

You search shallow rivers and well that run dry in less than a day.

You ask from people who do not give and

give to those who do not ask.

Open door.

When the sun is brushing down my face

And the mint leaves fill the air

I think of all that is good and right.

Why worry and burden myself with tomorrow?

It will soon be yesterday and everything will change again.

I keep my eyes on the horizon and the steady course of the sun,

From morning to evening, rising and setting.

It always promises and always proves true.

It brings me back to a never ending reality,

What matters and the dearest love of my heart.

I will not burden myself with the fear of tomorrow

And the load of yesterday.

I will set my eyes on the course of the sun.

I live and Eternity is at my door.

Lost in the sea of my heart

I get lost in the sea of my heart.

The waters are deeper than I can admit to.

In the dark and low corners giangantic fish are hiding,

Waiting for a little storm, a little trouble to surface.

I get lost in the sea of my heart.

I like to pretend it’s only a shallow, clear brooke.

I let myself believe I don’t care who comes or goes.

But it needs only a weak push,

It needs only a smile, a kind gesture,

It needs only nothing for you to fall in

the sea of my heart.

It needs only a little push for you to wade, swim, own

my waves, uneven levels, the sand at the bottom and the withdrawing tides.

I’d like to wish it away, the whole of me that cares.

It cares deep and wide, it takes in with open arms.

It excuses, forgives and forgets.

A heart wounded but populated heart is better than a lonely standing one.

Solitude is the Sun that dries my joy and life.

It’s the dark clouds that come in, threatening, scaring away.

I want to sail my own ocean and see numberous ships, floating away,

getting lost in the sea of my heart.