To a Victim of the Tsunami

Asylum

Dedicated to salvan

Monday 13th December 2004: My Dignified Friend
The first thing I saw was his gleaming grin,
Though did not know it hid a life so grim.
Second, (I looked down) was his tiny size,
Then third, the shattered look of his tired eyes.
With two full-time jobs on minimum pay,
He was glad for asylum and his stay.
His wife and child he has not seen for years,
But he’s proud to feed them, too proud for tears.
Smiles wide, my small friend, with a smaller fee,
I only wish I were as tall as he.

Monday 20th December 2004: The Pot Washer
While all the suspicions are substantial,
The evidence is but circumstantial.
Money was stolen from a pair of jeans,
And there’s a chance it was my friend who cleans.
He needs the money for his family,
I hope he’d not betray his dignity.
In four months, after four years of labour,
They can come to live with dad, their saviour.
Then they will learn “daddy’s” our best KP,
And how he’s touched the lives of friends like me.

Monday 27th December 2004: A Friend Drowned In Sorrow
His broken voice confirmed my worried fears,
His once dry pride, now drenched in floods of tears.
He gave his life to work, to keep them fed,
And now his wife and child are dead.
Waves of emotion see guilt replace pride,
Were he not here, he’d have died at their side.
He cannot phone through for confirmation,
Nor get home before the mass cremation.
Hysteric lonely helpless agony,
My friend, one victim of the tragedy.

By Mark Worger