An updated poem based on Psalm 137.
By the Waters of the Channel
|By the waters of the Channel we sat down,|
we wept when we remembered Syria.
We pitched our tents among broken trees
on a patch of rubbish-strewn ground.
And the smugglers who brought us here said
we should be happy. Even though they took
everything we owned they said, "Phone
your family, tell them you’ve escaped."
How shall we praise Allah in a strange land?
If I forget Damascus and my family
I might as well lose my right hand.
If I deny my country and my people
I might as well die of hunger or thirst.