The Backway


Here, desolate,

I stand

earnest in thought

By these shores of the Mediterranean

Where this Blue monster,

in deceptive calm, lies

heaving sighs

in its roiling, uneasy sleep


 like a horde of a thousand ghosts,

Awakened, the blue swells surge


like the tears of doomed souls

Doomed souls of boys and men

lost to the deep,

Forever to dwell

In the belly of this mighty

Merciless beast

I hear

the voices in the winds

Sounds floating in the night air

Vestigial echoes calling through the mist

Telling tales of the doomed odysseys

Borne from poverty and misguided tales

Of false promises

like Dick Whittington’s tale

Stories of Europe

streets paved with gold

So here I stand, my tears roll

Crying for my brethren

To whom only dreams were sold

Alas! were they not told?

Not all that glitters will turn to gold

Alas! they should have known

From the stories that had been told

Of dangers and perils untold

my brethren

they should have stayed home

Held to God’s hope with a firm handhold

But to the poor

God only comes in the form of bread

So my brethren… they risked it all

Took the back way in search of hope

but ended their days in Davy Jones’s Locker

so I pray for my brethren gone

may their soul rest in perfect peace

(By Imran Darboe)

Imran Darboe

One Comment

  1. A thoughtful poem. The brother wrote that from the soul. Keep it up Imran.