The Migrant's Journey Poem by Chris Zachariou

Our homes lie in ruins
and our daughters are abused
by the soldiers of a corrupted faith.

Children are forsaken by the angels
and mothers with babies yet unborn
are drowning in the darkest seas.

Our dead are left unburied by
the roadside, their putrid flesh
a banquet for death's foot soldiers.

The trail of misery is endless.
At the borders we are called
terrorists, malingerers and thieves

and all-the-while
countries playing to the gallery
declare quotas without shame.