I fled from the war, not my choice,
Caught in the horror with no voice.
No way back, no work anymore,
They told me, ‘Boy, go to the shore!’
Hundreds of people, camped to stay,
Waiting for boats, willing to pay,
Leaving Tripoli, packed so tight,
Babies crying, sick, hunger, fright.
Mothers soothing, cradling, hoping,
Below deck, airless, cramped, sloping.
Above deck is prayer, vomit, fear,
Way too many passengers here.
Two days gone and already death,
Swept by waves or crushed of their breath.
Old wreck of a boat on high seas,
Oh, dear God, hear a poor man's pleas.
But Lampedusa comes to view,
My hell is over, is it true?
Italy can't hold us all though,
Four years or more, now the strain shows.
Several hundred thousand migrants,
Will Northern Europe take a stance?
by Huw Hallam (14)
Bishopshalt School, Middlesex
Competition - Poetopia
Copyright remains with the author.