For Aylan Kudri
He dreamed of a warm bed, each night the pads of feet were soft on the walk up to bed
a fresh pillow that quilted his head for each new dream, that infinitely evolved in his mind
He dreamed of the arms that would cover him when sinking into a lullaby, his eyes closed
his mother’s hands closed his ears from the deafening waves that pounded the boat.
He dreamed of things that fell in the night rattled around in his head, catching memories
playing under street lamps, following the pigeons cooing under a Damascus moon
He dreamed of a new home, a place to breathe far from the tides of injustice that swept him
the sorrow that fill him, the hunger that brought him, to these unforgiving shores.
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It’s heartbreaking to think about Aylan and his family. How desperate must his parents have been to risk their lives and those of their children to seek refuge in Europe. The father must be absolutely shattered; his pain is unimaginable.
May Aylan, his brother Ghalib and his mother Rehana rest in peace.
Its a horrible tragedy, and one indelibly stamped in the mind of us all.
The Historian Simon Shama made a worthy comment on Question Time that the plight of the refugee crises is synonymous with the plight of the Jews fleeing from persecution. And that was the starting point for the Geneva refugee convention 1951 UNHRC. The convention is still enshrined in international law, but needs more countries to observe this. For there are many more Aylan’s out there. I fear many more tragedies will follow Hungary’s decision, against the convention, to close its borders.
A Damascus moon is a metaphor that came to me to express the light that shone on the children in Syria. This moon is the same as the moon in every city, though seen through his childhood innocence and that of every childhood.
With change being the only constant otherwise, in some ways it must be comforting to still see the moon every night….