Had cradled his dream, that Aegean Sea
Now tranquil tomb, of that apple pie
Aylan! How hard he fought, destiny
As he cried, “Daddy, please don’t die!”

Crimson soil of Kobani, the war-scarred Syrian town
Bore the bud of hope, angel Aylan
Alas, not to bloom, but to drown
Abdullah’s little son, why his fate undone?

Banished  from homeland, a betrayed clan
How uprooted dreams and hopes decry
“Our land and Quran, their vile game plan
Our spirits defy, they just, won’t die”

No state, to adopt these, homeless souls
Who cares, to cradle, their forsaken sigh?
Smugglers galore, would ferry at hefty tolls
To motley aloof lands, be faceless, thereby

Be it Aylan’s fate, would his woes, not abate?
His dinghy doomed, alas, a free land, a big lie
Oh! Still, so far away, Greek isles, await
With throbbing cries, “Aylan, don’t die”

There lies in sand, facedown, angelic Aylan
Failed by war, and an elusive joy, to buy
A dream to belong, to a patch, his own, alas, stolen
World disgraced, appalled, at what truths belie
Alas, pointless to sigh, “Aylan, please don’t die”

© 2015 Vikas Chandra