An Abyssal Graveyard

Death by drowning in desperation

A Father’s Grief Part II

Some months later, we meet again at a café.

I want to find out, Jan, how you are doing.

New job, and your youngest brother safe

at last, I’ve heard.

How are things? I ask this man so positively

blessed. And once again, a shadow crosses your eyes,

and furrows crease your forehead. I’m fine you say.

But I am not convinced.

And with a sigh you add, I have just come from

a visit to a good friend whose brother, on a bid

to survive, sold his shop, his house, in fact,

everything he owned.

And with his wife and six children left their home in

Syria to brave the Mediterranean divide and sail

across the horizon to that longed-for shore

of peace and safety.

Alas, this was not to be. Their boat capsized,

and all drowned except for the father, who

was left fully fatigued floating in the grip of the

treacherous sea, holding in his arms his

lifeless youngest child.

Weeping in this abyssal graveyard, he looked

up to a boat reaching out to his rescue and

mournfully, rejected all offers of help.

“What for?” he asked and removing his life-jacket

pronounced in tearful grief that he had

nothing left to live for, as he

was already dead.

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