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.