In the clear blue sky of a hot summer day,
above my head the white plume of a jet
flying high, curls like the bony spine of
some ancient dinosaur.
People jetting off to somewhere new,
passing over our valley shadowed with
older fears, of distant plagues like
locusts coming here.
Travel is escape,an altered perspective
on our human search for more than
survival , migrating meaning from
one place to another.
Unlike the birds , who yearly fill the air
with chattering joy at landfall, in their
need to build new nests for their
unfledged young.
Welcome visitors, crossing many
frontiers at will, illegal messengers
of song and acrobatic flight who
bring us all delight.
Now others come , not tourist class
but trapped in leaky boats on the sea’s
broad swell, seeking shelter here
in our island home .
These human travellers, desperate for
safety’s warm embrace, are denied
a welcome by cold indifference
uniformed in boats.
Why can we not greet neighbours
escaping war , or famine’s threat, to
see what gifts they bring? Have we
become blind and deaf?
Have we forgotten loss, or pain’s
sharp dissonance, along with our
common humanity, and wish only
lives of untroubled ease?
August 2020