Like animals they were crammed into a lorry which criss-crossed the continent. They paid vast sums to human traffickers who are surely damned. the image of a young woman plays in my mind: pretty, Vietnamese with red lipstick bringing the real horror to my soul, she left her dear ones behind her last message causing tears in my eyes saying she was dying and stating her love to her family thousands of miles away, I can't imagine the awful cries. the door was opened but far too late, 39 sufficated bodies met the gaze of those who witnessed the sickening scene, nobody should ever suffer such a fate. they were trapped inside a mobile tomb and although the world mourns now you can be certain it will soon forget as we hear other tales of doom. but the the woman's last message haunts me, she was told our streets were paved with gold yet only sightless eyes stared in a lorry full of corpses...crossing the sea. |
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PoetryThis is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most. Archives
April 2024
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