REFUGE

Morning came.

The sun, though wanly yet,

From out the clouds did creep,

And chilled but more the coldness in each heart.

Night had passed.

Their craft its course had set;

They roused themselves from sleep,

Despairingly aware this was the start.

            ***   ***  ***   ***

And then within their breasts a wondrous joy:

“We are alive.  Our pained heartbeat

Is Freedom’s precious blood;

Though fugitive, we plant our feet

On this uncertain road.

Reprieve, we pray, these victims of Hanoi.”

But what inexorable dream did drive

Them to this pass?  Utopia . . .?

Can desperation so

Produce a mass myopia?

Or did they simply show

A crass and rude desire to stay alive?

Freedom they sought and yet from freedom fled;

Their sorrow spent, alike their gold,

(Why give up gold for strife?)

Bewilderment assailed the old,

The rest were for their life

Content, who measured wealth by rice and bread.

This is no refuge for the older men.

Here Mammon reigns.  Who dares offend

Its promissory trap?

The tree retains a bitter blend

That yet within its sap

Contains the best of threescore years and ten.

No sanctuary this; no lotus land

With blossoms sweet.  Another scent

The fragrant harbour bears.

Its airs defeat their loud lament

And gives voice to their fears:

Retreat or here remain to make a stand.

Accumulated wealth; decay of man;

The evidence is all around:

This is cold comfort farm.

No penitents do here abound;

No charity; no charm.

“Dispense with it” some said “and change our plan.”

But still they stayed, and still more of them came

In constant hope: some few sanguine,

Some cynical, some scared;

The misanthrope and the benign,

Each really ill-prepared

To cope, alas, when menaced tongues declaim:

“You are not wanted here!  You have no right

Our aims to thwart.  We have our own

Philosophy to fill

An empty heart.  Leave us alone

To line our pockets still.

Depart!  Desist!  This scene offends our sight.”

And whither shall they go when doors are locked

to them and barred?  Another land?

Another sea serene

Yet still as hard?  Forever banned;

Regarded as obscene;

Ill-starred, kept out, each avenue but blocked.

The days lay heavy on them, and the weeks

Marked mournful time;  and endless nights

Of sleepless hours compose

No rest sublime.  But lawful rights

And liberties opposed

By crime whose legal putrefaction reeks.

Pity those huddled masses in their hive

Of human pain.  What choice had they

Beyond their selfish dream

To hope again?  Perhaps to pray,

Or, with a piteous scream,

Complain once more: “We merely want to live!”

Was it not ever so, since the first dawn/

Did not our Lord (perchance, too, theirs)

Enjoy the same disdain?

(The same reward?)  For what compares

With crucifix and pain

Of sword and scourge, save that one is reborn.

            ***   ***   ***   ***

Winter brought

Another wakening day;

The menace of that dream:

Demoralizing symbol of their fears.

In the Spring

The well-tide of their gay

And sacrificial stream:

The flower must die before the fruit appears.

Hong Kong, December 1979

This was inspired by the plight of the Vietnamese boat people and the refusal of the Hong Kong authorities to allow them to disembark.

The story behind the poem is well served by reference to the reports available HERE