Refugees

They are young, whole lives ahead of them,
And take their chances on a rusty hulk.
Terrified at last to be locked below deck,
Wouldn't have wanted so many to push on board.

The Mediterranean is calm, so they say, but
With bodies crushed together, no provisions
And no facilities, death is never far away.
All long for Lampedusa, tolerance, a new life.

It is night now and a patrol is sighted,
A hubbub arises and the old tub lists.
Before you can think about home, here or there,
The sea is upon us all, this is our tomb.

In villages and towns, the old are bereft,
Some wives too and youngsters. Will they ever
Hear, or will they be left to surmise,
When no call from Europe ever comes?

--
Stephen Moran
(2016)