People Run
by Michael Rosen
People run away from war:
my father’s uncle and his wife
ran away from war.
They ran from one side of France to another.
But the authorities divided people up:
some who ran away were good;
some, like my father’s uncle and his wife,
were not so good:
they were not born in France.
So they were put on a list
and had everything taken away from them.
They heard that people like them were
being put on trains and sent away to the east.
So they escaped and ran across France
again.
This was a good move,
they were safe now,
all they had to do was wait.
While they were waiting
the authorities in this place got defeated,
they were seized, put on a train
put in a transit camp, then on another train
to another camp,
where they were killed.
People run away from war.
Sometimes we get away.
Sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we’re helped.
Sometimes we aren’t.
(Michaelrosenblog.blogspot.co.uk, 2015)
These are the first words spoken in our piece, with a sense of community being portrayed in the background. We felt this worked well as it set the mood of the piece, and makes the audience think right from the off, as what is being spoken about is World War II.
The Voyage of a Refugee
by Sonia Jane
He gave of his heart,
As he shared of his woe,
When a voyage in a boat,
For freedom, he did go.
It was not a choice,
To leave his country behind.
Death was the option,
While hope, lay the other side.
But what a story,
He did tell.
That voyage on the boat,
Was a living hell!
Little food and water,
He prayed for rain.
Watched the birds circle above,
Waiting for death again.
The fish knew to stay,
Close by the side.
They knew easy food,
This boat could provide.
Whose turn was next?
It mustn’t be mine.
They knew, full well,
Many wouldn’t make it in time.
There’s much I can’t tell,
Too horrific to say,
All imprinted in memories,
As nightmares replayed.
But there’s one thing I can say,
Now a refugee, I’ve met,
The hell of his journey,
I’ll never forget.
(Soniajane.com, 2016)
This poem is being spoken over a boat crossing journey. The words of this poem really impact the scene and work well against the image being depictedtext and edit me. It's easy.
Innocent Victims
by Sandra Botha
What turns men into killing machines,
That blow apart lives and destroy innocent dreams?
Look into the eyes of a child and may the pain that you see,
Haunt you as much as it haunts me.
Innocent lives destroyed by the things that they saw,
In yet another pointless and brutal war.
Look at the tear stained face of a child whose home has been blown apart,
In a war he doesn't understand and he certainly didn't start.
Feel the pain of the child who has lost a limb,
Can you explain the reasons for this war to him?
Or the little girl weeping beside her dead mother,
While the ambulance crew try to save her brother.
Look at the orphans that this war did create,
And you'll see another generation who will learn how to hate.
For as a heartbroken child cries in the still of the night,
He dreams of the day when for revenge he will fight.
(Facebook.com, 2016)
We chose this poem specifically as we felt it fit the feel of the children’s scene we wanted to create. Lines like ‘Look into the eyes of a child’ really grasped what we wanted to say, and what we wanted our audience to feel.
We Journey Towards A Home
by Mahmoud Darwish
We journey towards a home not of our flesh. Its chestnut trees are not of our bones.
Its rocks are not like goats in the mountain hymn. The pebbles' eyes are not lilies.
We journey towards a home that does not halo our heads with a special sun.
Mythical women applaud us. A sea for us, a sea against us.
When water and wheat are not at hand, eat our love and drink our tears...
There are mourning scarves for poets. A row of marble statues will lift our voice.
And an urn to keep the dust of time away from our souls. Roses for us and against us.
You have your glory, we have ours. Of our home we see only the unseen: our mystery.
Glory is ours: a throne carried on feet torn by roads that led to every home but our own!
The soul must recognize itself in its very soul, or die here.
(Warscapes, 2015)
We decided to use this poem to create a scene in which a refugee is arriving into a new place, which they do not know. The music playing over, the words spoken and the image projected by performers on stage all help to create a feeling of emptiness, and longing for something that you cannot have, home.
Home
by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
(SeekersHub Blog, 2015)
This is the last one spoken by an individual. It’s strong statement and powerful message creates a real impact on anyone who listens to it. We even took the name of our piece from a line of this extremely moving poem.
Syrian Refugees
by Jim Bates
I'm watching a programme on telly
About the Syrian refugees
Men and women and children
Humanity brought to its knees
I'm watching the desperate faces
The terror and hunger and fear
They're facing their ultimate nightmare
And me? Well I'm just sitting here
And saying 'Isn't it awful'
'Something needs to be done'
Whilst searching the TV listings
And planning my evening of fun
Then I happen upon the BBC news
Cameron wringing his hands on my screen
Saying Syria is a priority
Then slips into a black limousine
Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel
Echo the prime minister's views
And tell us how hard they are working
Another soundbite for the news
Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner
Which will go on well into the night
While in the camps the tears will continue
No dinner for those folks tonight
At the meeting, an idea from Turkey
Amongst the platitudes and the kind words
The plan that they're putting forward
Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds
I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair
Offering the world a solution
I really can't listen to that grinning clown
Spouting his verbal pollution
He's jabbering on about Islam
Trying to give us the wisdom we lack
And hoping the world has forgotten
What Bush and him did in Iraq
Perhaps he's just a bit jealous
That he's not allowed to the feast
After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons!
A doggy bag surely at least.
While another mother loses her children
More slaughter and mayhem we see
And imagine the arms manufacturers
And dealers, jumping with glee
As they make another few billions
And probably a few billions more
Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars
In their financial laundry offshore
And the politicians turn a blind eye
And I'm sure that they won't be divulging
How some of them came by their fat bank accounts
And why their back pockets are bulging
But then.......success I hear on the news
The EU says all is not black
They've solved the refugee crisis.
When they get here.........we're sending them back.
Job done, EU movers and shakers
So sorry for doubting your cause
You've sorted the Syrian problem
Give yourselves a big round of applause
(Poetrysoup.com, 2016)
The final poem spoken by the entire company. These are the last words spoken of the piece, which we feel leave a real impact on our audience.