Two Sides
In blazing sun she stares through dusty eyes
from bombed out building, huddled with her kin
counting the hours until the next one dies
and waiting for the next raid to begin.
She longs for nights free of gunfire and screams
competing with the madness in her head
a place with housing, jobs, the stuff of dreams
beyond that first brave step across the Med.
'The streets are paved with gold', the smugglers say,
'their Governments fulfil your every need'
as cash in hand they spirit more away
the gullible, clueless of where they lead.
A cold London shop doorway, drenched from storm
the homeless sleeper dreams of somewhere warm.
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