Angry.

The wreckage of fallen humanity

is washed up on our shores,

the tragedies and the horrors,

like waves upon our sands.

our beach is littered with the bodies

of those who lie silenced in their pain and suffering.

refugees and orphans

the lost and the forlorn.

yet the children play,

with coloured balls

their umbrellas and their towels,

a respectful distance from the carnage

is a game of beach cricket.

Blood in the sand.

There is blood spilt on the sand.

The wreckage of grief and suffering

falling at our feet

we are playing games,

deaf, dumb and blind,

the wreckage on our shores.