Truth parades no colours,

it stands tall, fearless.

Only the messenger quakes,

dreading the wrath of Tigranes,

to see their eyes

become Cleopatra’s toys.

Truth will be told

as the sun rises, light prevails

even in the darkened shade

of a South Sea island

where travellers tossed

by fate and fortune,

hidden, not forgotten

wretched refugees discarded,

Behrouz Boochani,

truth’s envoy,

call his name,

remember it

to shame those

who lurk in the shade of freedom

to hide the truth.

Written in response to this article in The Guardian and a conversation I had with a man from Sydney, this afternoon.

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