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.
