CalaisA Poem by Mathew NicolsonA poem I've been working up in my mind for a while, now.
Every day they hate you more
when all you want is peace. Desperate you gather, but closed is the door; they wish your kind would cease.
Is it wrong? My skin, clothes, face; my faith, culture, tradition; memories of rubble, fire, loss; or memories of barren, dusty land. Would you let me in if I looked more like you?
We offer you
guards behind walls, dogs behind guards, politicians who, in their grand palace, turn the screw tighter, tighter, and congratulate themselves on their
service to the public. They talk of swarms, the jungle and British values - you talk of food, shelter, and the hope of a better life. We offer the scorn of tabloids, pushing their rich man agenda on a public which, dazed and confused, leave the ballot box wondering why they feel so blue, quivering in fabricated fear of you. If you want tolerance, freedom, or love, you've come to the wrong place.
© 2015 Mathew NicolsonReviews
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1 Review Added on August 18, 2015 Last Updated on August 18, 2015 Tags: Calais, refugees, commentary, UK, politics Author
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