Cold and weary in unseaworthy boats
We cross the Channel without gloves or coats
Fleeing conflict and poverty on different coasts
Hoping to find a place that we can boast
No more looking like unearthly ghosts
I hear the snap that triggers fear
Yet when I look no land is near
Some will die and that seems clear
While I am wondering what I am doing here
And what will happen remains unclear
The boat capsizes and we go under
Distressing cries sound like the thunder
We fight to hold on as the boat tears asunder
Desperation comes and I start to wonder
Will the coast guards arrive before we all go under?
So, far from home in a foreign land
With no hope left that we shall feel the sand
bodies float as I see firsthand
The needless deaths that are unplanned
Thinking if we knew beforehand, that we may never make it onto dry land
MARYANN BOSAH 