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Song Of The Wandering

from Here There Be Demons by The Crows Of Albion

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about

The migrant crisis is a world-wide disaster that often overlooks the fact that it is ‘people’ who matter – not the numbers. It’s a difficult topic to cover in a poem – and even harder to look past the photo’s (the one opposite is one of the less graphic available on line). This tells the tale of one fated voyage – the loss of lives – the sudden switch from hope – to fear – to death…

lyrics

Song Of The Wandering

In darkness deeper than the mine
where, once, I scraped my fingers to the bone
a silver seam of moonlight
breaks across the boiling blackness
and I let those self same fingers
idly trail in the cold Mediterranean.
I dream of the golden sunlight
left behind in the dust, distress and bullets.

That was then and this is now.
The churning sea, the angry orders
snapped at us in foreign tongues.
The smell of fear permeates this shanty-boat.
I drowse and dream of figs and apples,
sweetness quenching the arid desert mouth
of this poor orphan cast adrift
upon a ship of dreams.

Like fish in open boxes we lie back to back,
tightly packed Into the wooden crate
that bears its cargo to the free world
where, they promise, we will be safe.
We sing ancestral hymns,
learned from nuns in schools under African skies,
who all lay dead beneath
the soldiers boots.

Songs of the wandering.
The crossing of oceans -
first Saharan, then the tides.
Buying a future that cannot be foretold
even though they call these vessels ‘Zodiacs’.
Counterpoint rhythms of futile calls to God
to save us from this undulating hell
and lead us to redemption.

A creak…
a groan…
wetness rushes
into the mass…
we move…
it rolls
and all
is lost…

credits

from Here There Be Demons, released September 30, 2015
WORDS: Ian Whiteley
MUSIC: Martin Heaton

license

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