I have read much over the last week or two about the problems in Syria and the refugees and I think by now that we all know there is a problem of catastrophic proportions. I have read of people warning that militants are infiltrating and mingling with the refugees hoping to get taken in and allowed to stay somewhere and that it is their way of getting a foothold in many countries and work their evil. That may be true.
I have heard tales of refugees smoking and on their mobiles …I think if I smoked maybe I too would be smoking and probably more.
My mobile is generally firmly attached to my ear most of the time …if that was me…would I leave my mobile my only way of communicating with friends and family…I think not….
If I had a child or children and we lived in a war zone and the danger to them was increasing every minute of every day would I not try to get them to safety?…I think I would…
If I had elderly parents or a sick friend would I take them with me? ….I think I would.
Would I hope that someone would help me?….I think I would.
Would I hope I would be welcomed and allowed to live in safety with my family? I think I would.
Would I if I could… help ?…I think I would…
Would you if you could help…help…..I hope so.
I would like to share with you a poem written by a dear friend Richard Theze. Richard was inspired to write this poem after reading an article in an Australian Newspaper.
The article was about the tragic, untimely death of a small boy called ” Aylan Kurdi ” who died along with his other sibling and his mother….who was doing what most mothers would do…trying to take her children to a place of safety…….she died trying to do that…….
I for one am ashamed…ashamed that I belong to a human race that at times seems devoid of all humanity.
Thank you Richard for allowing me to share your words a little tribute to a tiny boy called Aylan.
Little Boy Drowned
A Response to the Death of Aylan Kurdi
(by Richard Thézé)
You did not deserve to die in the coldness of water,
To drown in the distant, dispassionate depths of human indifference.
No migrant, you, nor refugee, but a little boy – just three,
Washed, bare legs, small shoes, face down
Upon unfamiliar shore.
Your race, no matter now, nor ever should, you belonged to us,
Yet, backs turned, we overlooked your need to play
Safe away from the threat of violence and war,
Failed too, to notice those who risked all to give you a better life,
Their hope, your end, such a bitter irony.
Others, too, have died, many, cast adrift upon callous seas,
A million deaths, perhaps, statistics all,
But yours: the single death of a little boy drowned – a tragedy,
Internationally, now, the bellowed demands echo
That something be done.
Inspired by a tribute in The Sydney Morning Herald in September 2015.