No Answer To Her Cries Poem by Mark Heathcote

What will she do, and how will she plead?
When asked. How she came here by some boat.
Was it out of economic need and greed?
She risked her life and the lives of her seed.
Why do the ears of her forefathers bleed so much?
The ashes of their voices switch back into flames.
There is no answer to her cries; there is no antidote.
It's seen as a 'selfish 'selfish act, ' everyone blames,
It's seen as ‘cowardice treason' that lets down the periscope.

An egotistical adventure, fanning the flames
Of intolerance and racial bigotry,
So it is that she lives on in truth without her dignity.
Sheltered in the bosom of another tyrant's tyranny
There are days she wishes her boat was sunk.
Flung-back scuppered against the rocks of home;
Her flesh was torn from her body, and her bones
Scattered along its shoreline like a broken tusk
Beneath its never-ending cries of gurgling, foam.