The bodies that wash up on the shores of Europe
Not described as human even as they die,
The ‘bunches of migrants’ in tiny fleets
Connected in pain as the children cry.
A war torn world torn again by greed
Fed to the living as fact dressed in lies,
The corrupt need us to be the silent with no seed
As somewhere in that graveyard of honesty another child dies.
In lorries on land in pain they move
No home, no shoes no coat,
You, yes you, sat in comfort with nothing to prove
May not ever register to vote.
When you give your voice away
You give away control to another voice,
When you decide to leave or stay
Think beyond your own comfortable choice.
If that child on the beach once moved you
If that gas chamber made you shiver,
There are words seldom said but true
A truth only a conscious mind can deliver.
The powerful need you to feel done
They need you not to care,
You to be that bystander as the harm has begun
With no empathy left to share.
This ‘bunch of migrants’ that is me and you
This present is the history we must someday explain too,
Our grandchildren won’t believe it is true
With all our power there was really nothing we could do.
Sit silent then, hold your voice
Sit silent then hold you vote,
Sit silent then it is your choice
Sit silent in when its your turn in that boat.
Photo of Shami Chakrabiti taken by r2ph at Yarls Wood May 2015
11th May 2016