REFUGE
[Inspired by the plight of the Vietnamese boat people and
the refusal of the Hong Kong authorities to allow them to disembark
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.
And now, if you want to be
reminded of the obscene treatment of the Vietnamese in Hong Kong (and
elsewhere!) click here.
And, off
Christmas Island, in 2001. Plus ca
change.