As your little hands grasp for comfort recognisable

After the world of rubble you were ripped from,

The smooth plastic mask fails to hold still in your shaky palms

Try and concentrate on your breath.

A greedy lens pokes into the corner of your eye

Have you even noticed the journalist to your left?

It’s me, on the other end of the wire


When I was small like you

And my mother was alive

All I needed were those words,


By sheen, my fear had almost vanished.

I wish I could pull you to my breast like she did

And protect you from feeling alone as you are surrounded

By other bleeding men

Who the doctors run to instead of you


You could have been me, and I you

Both totally powerless to end this chaos

But we shout and fight in our own way

To remind people that you exist

I hope to meet you one day on the plains of Europe

Or maybe in your Damascene garden

With a fountain and the sweet smell of jasmine filling the air

Until then



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s