(In memory of Alan Kurdi, the Syrian baby in the iconic photo of 2015)

 

Now suddenly you feel sad that a child is dead

Yet you ignored the stories which, daily, you read

Of thousands of children and mothers drowning

And thousands of fathers and younglings running

From countries whose foundations have been shaken

By weapons and ideologies that there you’ve taken

 

Now suddenly you feel guilty, because of one picture

Yet you ignored live images of a torn social structure

Images of bombings of their houses and neighbourhoods

And of the halting of their work and the damage to livelihoods

As merchants from your countries benefitted from the sales

Of the guns and the bombs that were used in the assails

 

Now suddenly you say you are deeply concerned

By the number of refugees and migrants you’ve earned

From years of your meddling and exporting wars

Whose ending you thought would earn you good scores

But alas! Your expression of might through guns and bombs

Has brought you many zeroes, killed men, kids and moms

 

Now suddenly you realise you never earn from war

Yet suddenly you hate them like the bigots of yore

Now suddenly you fear them and want them turned away

Now suddenly you forget that your grannies came this way

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