We are all migrants
Dec 1, 2018-
The call of a solitary pied cuckoo
rings above the brook
that gurgles over the rocks.
Its black and white
wing patterns and spiky crest,
stark against the monsoon green
of its momentary tree perch.
Beautiful is the whistling notes it makes
before pecking into its feathers,
its long tailed bobbing
eagerly for a feeding, mating splurge.
It’s easy to be amazed
by just how this slim, brood parasite
manages to navigate
thousands of ardous, dangerous miles
into this breeding sanctuary.
The body of a young Syrian boy
washed up on a desolate beach in Turkey
sparks an international outcry and rage.
Lying face down on the surf
in his red t-shirt and tiny shoes,
the small, restless waves of the choppy sea
constantly break into him in a resounding woosh.
This stirring image resonates
as a tragic symbol
—of the price people fleeing violence and hardship pay
to find a new life for themselves
and for those who they will raise.
And tells the whole world
just how this lifeless war refugee
perished in a final, desperate attempt
to find a safe haven and thrive,
and perhaps live to a great age.
All that the bird and the refugee boy
driven by instincts of survival.
Setting out on their perilous journeys
to navigate their way
in a world of starvation, disease, predatory onslaught
both natural and man-made.
The only cue guiding them
to the elusive perfect nest
etched in their mental map
being the wanderlust gene
lying dormant in every being.
It’s just that one had to somehow survive
to spark enthusiasm in the pleasure
of witnessing next year
just how its kind keep the time of their arrival.
Alas the other had to eternally lie face down
on the beach and become a poster boy
of terrible migrant suffering,
to move countries so much
as to close their doors
and impose refugee blockade.
Borders and walls
are there for the unfortunate humans,
not birds and brooks,
and while shutting out outsiders,
we ourselves get shut in,
and end up more damaged,
with a heart that keeps hurting.
Published: 01-12-2018 08:32