Holiday or trespass

'Holiday or trespass' by Barbara Tonge

We pay our pot of gold
To reach the sun
But not the rainbow’s end
There is no rain.

We scorch our skins
And worse our inner selves
Trespassing sundrenched lands
Flaunting faults
Basking beneath an unjust sky
Where crops fail and children die.

Treading with tactless feet
The struggling grass, the crouching child
Can gentle step be placed
Without disturbing nature or their grace.

Forgo the pleasure, stay where we belong
To heal the wounds or rectify the wrong
Knowing that they are bled
To satisfy the strong.

(Written after visiting Africa twenty years ago.)

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