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
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
