Aylan lies face down, Poetry by Angelina Llongueras

Genre: Rhyme, Thriller

Aylan lies face down by Angelina Llongueras

Aylan lies on the ground
face down,
the sea
has delicately poised him
on the beach,
right where the sand
and the water meet,
only a bucket missing
at his feet
for him to build a castle
in the delicate evening sun.

Aylan lies face down.

Mme Lagarde is happy
he has not outlived
the age where pensions
cease to be cost efficient
for those that, like her, rob them,

and suck the blood and flesh
of sweet «cheap» children
from «cheap» countries
scourged and devastated
by outsourced armies
made of private thugs
to avoid restitutions,
children placed,
like a satanic offer,
to her feet, so she can take a bath
made of their fragile delicacy,
and feel rejuvenated,
like that Hungarian countess
of the middle ages.

Aylan lies face down,
sleeping the infinite sleep,
together with his Syrian family,
his parents, and his eldest brother, 5 year old Galip.
Aylan was 3.

came out of the deep inner sea,
that sea which is untouched
in the heart of all Mediterranean peoples,
and crossed the outer sea
of desolation
his trident caught in the plastic bag islands,
in the oil spills,
in the echo of the absent dolphins,
in the dying fish,
in the noise of the discotheques
where rich tourists drink up
the heat that’s left of the summer
amid an alcoholic void
and let their anguish
like a urbanizable profitable forest
burn to ashes in the stupor…

Aylan lies face down.

Poseidon has taken Aylan
to ride the hologram

of an extinct sea horse
in a fit of compassion,
for the suffocation of his little 3 year old heart

He has taken him
to a visit to the recent ghosts
whose voices fill the sea,
with omens of doom
for those of us living
without seeing the ongoing genocide
of children like Aylan,
who flee from a land
filled with demons bought
and trained with the huge sums
of the neo-cons,
to create terror, poverty
and doom,
and earn Mr Mc Cain, Mr Walfowitz,
and yes, old Kissinger,
billions worth of weapon sales.

He has taken him to play
with many, many other children,
from Africa and the middle East,
who have welcomed him
and his family…

Aylan lies face down.

Poseidon has not bothered
to go inland
to show him a Greece
that has become a branch of Mac Donalds,
sold to the monsters of greed,
the sun,
in his bountiful wisdom,
has caressed Aylan,
and softly let him reach
the shore of a utopian Greek island
to which he has come to be poised
with a calm expression
looking down, under the sea,
that inner sea, Poseidon
lets him see
with eyes of wonder
for ever open.

Aylan lies face down,
and sleeps,
and dreams,
and wakes me,
and shakes me,
and is inside the water of my tears
as I sing a lullaby
for him
who lies face down
on the shore
of the Mediterranean common grave,
of my Mediterranean sea,
my inner sea,
my inner pain,
my inner heartbreak
where Aylan,
for ever,
face down.

    * * * * *

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