Borderlines

A poem about the growing crisis across Europe.

Borderlines

Back, back, you cannot come!
There is a sounding of a drum,
Beating, a call to kith and kin,
Even in circles in kind Berlin,
To just look after one’s very own;
Water cannon, tear gas thrown,
And razor wire walls are built,
And no one feels any guilt;
Border controls set up again,
All to break the human chain;
They can be angry, on their way,
Hungry, harassed every day,
And anger can erupt in cries,
And bricks thrown, arise, arise!
Desperation brings out angry men,
Herded in camps, like cattle pen;
Blessed are the meek, not these:
The meek were left behind the seas,
And wait in hunger, pain, for death,
And ISIS coming, like evil Seth;
No mercy there, from tribes of Tash,
Coming now to maim and slash;
Who will stay, and who will die,
And who will like a migrant fly?
I would not remain, if I could go:
Even if what end, I did not know,
I would tramp along a dusty road,
Hoping to find some safe abode;
But where is refuge, where is hope?
All countries say they cannot cope,
And borderlines are drawn again,
And will this be the last amen?