Cruising – A poem dedicated to the refugees who dare to dream of an elusive freedom

CRUISING.
While I slept comfortably in my soft bed
You were in the boat, before dawn
Cruising the illusive border to freedom
and safety.
 
By the time I woke up,
You had drowned
in salt: your eyes first, then,
All of you.
 
Tears and tide together
swallowed you, your children
and your dreams:
Dreams of safety
dreams of certainty
dreams of ease
dreams of peace.
 
While the ones born privileged
For no merit of their own
in countries rich and peaceful,
protected to be called “home,”
debated whether you are worthy,
migrant or refugee
you clutched on to freedom
which looked as real as the fog
that morning
as you sunk to the bottom
and emerged to the surface
as though you were in a never-ending dream.
 
You could’ve been me
I could’ve been you
You could be me, and
I could be you;
All it takes is violence
For that to be true.
………………………………………………………………………………………
Mathews George,  14 September, 2015
As another boat, carrying escaping Syrian refugees from Turkey, sinks in the Mediterranean Sea, near Greek Islands.
Cruising to freedom
Cruising to freedom. Image  Courtesy: Malayala Manorama

Beauty, you kill me

Beauty, you kill me

Everywhere I turn, you invade me

There’s a rush and a turn , a glance

And a churn, I wonder how and why

You beat me.

And you just do.



I’m caught in the glance,

Appreciation lies in the detail

Where glance, a second, or a third is not enough

And  the main requirement is to go beyond the fourth.

How could beauty be so beautiful? Why does it hurt?

You can’t stand and watch till it morphs into a stare

And you get people’s glare and labels square

There’s innuendo the next time your friends talk

Or they’re hiding while they appreciate you for other things.

Since I can only appreciate, and there’s so much to see

You’re always left behind and you come in another disguise

Why ? Everywhere? It’s awesome, except for the stare

Because when you stare all over my puzzled face

All I could say is, ‘Oh God, how beautiful can one get!’



But don’t think I don’t know how elusive you are

Looks do matter but that’s not all there is.

There’s much beyond you, that I know

But your influence, I must admit

Is beyond  what you are aware of.

You make one eloquent;

Do stupid things, when you ought to look and be,

Intelligent.

You have made time fly and waits long

Me weak and yourself strong

Did God tell you what I ought to do?

Because I don’t seem to recall.

I can’t ask you to stop hurting me,

As the world around can be dull without you.

Still . . .

You kill me and you ought to know.

At the feet of the cross

When the cross was borne
All pain was gone:
Not for the bearer, but for the lost.
When the Lord arose
From Joseph’s tomb,
Hope arose with him;
For it was sure
That victory was won
Over the power of sin
By the death of one-
The blameless;
For the sinful, undeserving lot
Whom He created and
Found it to be was good. GOOD.

Now, why would He do that?

A divine blunder?
To surrender to the fancies
Of these miniscule beings?

All I can do is to sit and ponder
And share the love that’s found,
As we stand at the feet of the cross.

Mathews George