There is a child, name unknown,
Left weeping in a war zone,
Parted from his family
By violence seen only on TV,
Watched closely and worried for
By political observers keeping score
And thousands, millions even,
Watching as his land lies bleeding,
Knowing not what we should do
Or even if the story’s true,
Images of conflict slipstreaming news,
Drip-feeding tragedy into living-rooms
Showing in carefully smoke-screened detail
The business of conflict, defying the scale.
Words and pictures all there are
To tell us things have gone this far.
Journalists doing the best they can
To track the fate of our fellow man
While we sleep safely in our beds
With ample time to rest our heads
And focus on more homely thoughts,
A long way from these last resorts.
Safely distanced to receive
Little more than softened edits
With seamless editorial credits
Just bit by bit being made aware
Of what’s really been going on out there,
Slowly but surely grasping the context,
The devastation, lives tragically wrecked,
Deeply humbled by our learning:
This, the reason the world keeps turning.
* http://www.warchild.org.uk/ – international charity for child refugees.