Poem by Claudia Piccino

 

 

The courage of the losers

 

He has big eyes …Ismael

a parched mouth Ikrahm,

a ringing voice Aziz.

They are far from the train of the wind

the English Kindertransport

when the war afflicted Europe.

They are the kids on the way

The innocent eyes of  today,

the lambs sacrified to the cross

by land and  by sea

those we see parading at the tv news

we the servants of Charon,

we”the civilians”

we hostage of indifference,

victims and possibly accomplices

of a similar addiction..

We are on the edge of the path

crowded with outstretched hands,

we… we are motionless

with our hidden little arms

that do not essay to offer any help.

He has big eyes …Ismael

a parched mouth Ikrahm,

a ringing voice Aziz.

Din of bombs

in their memories,

at the foot sores

chilblains and hands.

The baton of the guards

spares no one,

It is worse than the swing of the tides,

It seems the hunger of sharks.

Poverty, famine, epidemics.

Ismael, Ikrahm, Aziz;

To go, to stay, to come back

The civilized Europe has invented

a deadly device:

the refugee camp

to make us accustom

to the diaspora of the Lambs

to the obtuseness of our minds

to the unmathed  courage of  the losers.

 

 

Claudia Piccinno