A short story
written a while back that depicts immigrants’ suffering. A heartfelt gratitude,
appreciation and admiration to selfless souls in Spain and elsewhere in Europe
who countered migration policies with humanitarian sensibility. Claudia Moya,
you are meant here in particular.
The Roman Citadel held on but had to fall, and she
had nowhere to hide at all. Over the cracked Greek stairs she was forced to
crawl, until she reached the Phoenician quay on all four. She anchored her
hopes to the boat and to the handler to whom she was in thrall, carrying within
the child she wishes would never be born. Marooned in the deep blue sea she
prayed for a god to save her soul, but her screams were much too stout for her
weakened jowl. Watching the faces fade under the water while the waves
roared, she clenched her nails into the rubber boat that was all torn. The sun
at last shone and warmed her soaked bones, and fate did smile when she reached
the old land of the Moors. With beauty and peace her heart did soar, and did
not understand why they were calling her back to the shore. “In a village of La
Mancha, the name of which I do not wish to recall, our fate would have been
different my dear boy” she sobbed as her child snored.
A boy touches
his crying father during a Nov. 19 protest by angry migrants from Pakistan and
Morocco who blocked a section of the Greece-Macedonia border after Macedonia
began granting entry only to refugees from Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. (CNS
photo/Georgi Licovski, EPA)
Thanks darling for your words. ❤️
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing as well
ReplyDeletePolitical poetry - artistic humanity