Monday, September 7, 2015

To Aylan: Another Son

My son also used to lie down like this
In his little red T-shirt and blue shorts
With those little shoes growing wings
Not there on a sea shore so violent
But on the shore of my love-cool and wet
Like ants on an iron fruit they clutch
On each other; the last effort to freedom
My son also used to lie down like this
On his stomach, in his little shoes and shirt
I used to stand like a soldier noting down
His dreams and smiles, then I carry him
On my arms, gently to the bathroom
Where he would wake with a scream
And give me a teary smile, my son
Refugees we are, having rotten passports
With faces that are despicable unto them
The consul cannot bang his fist on the table
My son, for the time has changed by you
Like my friend’s photographed doll
And like the sand filled shirts on a distant shore
In a mock act of serial suicides and holocaust
You alone fill the shore, like Gulliver in sleep
So ashamed of the world of moral dwarfs
Yes, my son too used to sleep like you
Let him assure peace to the world like Buddha
If not in the way that you have done by your death

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