Huddling close for warmth they gripped each other’s hands,
the ragged clothes hardly covering their shrunken flesh,
their sore covered faces closed eyes that had lost their light,
no one would come but those displaced, empty handed,
starving families, children like theirs dying slowly into
the corrupt earth.
Governments rage against refugees, refusing to grant
them a chance to be free and a shaft of hope of life.
They go to their worship where they hear of a God
who cares about humans and the ravaged planet,
and turn blind backs on the horror of displacement
and dine richly.
Charities working give them hope in clothes and food,
but no-one can help them while terrible traffickers
take their coins for frightening travel, cons and lies,
promising heaven and giving them hell, while those
who could stand for justice and mercy choose hatred
punish the innocent.
Now politicians think up wicked schemes and plot
to send them to countries violating human rights,
spending our money to perpetrate crimes against
humanity, binding them in chains and sending them
away to suffer more, be killed and so Pilate Patel
washes her hands.