To Aylan, A Three Year Old Refugee Syrian Boy Poem by Roula Pollard

How much pain
a name contains,
Aylan Curdi,
island isolated, continent isolated
by our indifference.
You are
the non-finality
of an angel in eternity.
You a symbol
when a child drowns
the world drowns us all.
By your name
one continent,
three, all continents,
hear your cries,
does your pain rise
like air, cries
above the earth,
as if children,
my child,

Never die,
when you die,
do not die
my angel!
I hold you, my child, alive.
We are holding you,
all poets hold,
caress
your hand.


© Roula Pollard
All rights reserved