Abrahem

Abrahem.
Abrahem came here looking for Hope,
Found only Despair.
Abrahem spends his days scavenging off bits of work that float his way;
Too often fleeced, he bobs along in the undercurrent of society,
Not visible unless you look,
Slowly drowning in a torture more sweet than any by Saddam (Bastard!) Hussein.
Abrahem lost his wife and baby son,
Killed by a bomb;
A gas attack on the Kurds.
For two years he wasn’t quite sane.
Stuck between two rival guerilla armies he joined one,
Fled when his mind came back and he saw how amorally it was run;
Abrahem, poor Abrahem!
Russia, Greece and Spain,
Days on a train,
The winter cold and crooks along the way,
He survived it all to land in the UK,
A land of drear not cheer
And a deluded leader with a career plan of WAR!
He wasn’t made welcome.
Filled with the retchings of the crapoids
The blank-eyed population buried their heads in work
And looked on with hostility.
Laws, and the tightening of laws, and the tightening again,
Slowly, like a noose,
Pumping out his breath,
Bit by bit, Abrahem, died - inside;
Fire dimming,
Life ebbing,
Integrity corroded where no man can stand the hidden insults,
Hidden contempt,
The withholding of work and rights -
The English Way,
The sad, sad English Way,
The Selfish Way,
The Pretend-it’s-not-happening way,
The sad, sad English losers’ way.
Abrahem died one night, but his corpse still walks the streets,
As we English scurry home.