Today scientists discovered a petrified tree
on the island of Lesbos.
Twenty million years old - perhaps?
The age is hard to tell
Fossilised through fire and molten lava
I wonder how it lasted so long.
Today I spoke to a petrified refugee
also on the island of Lesbos.
Twenty years old - perhaps?
The age is hard to tell
Damaged through fire at Moria camp
I wonder how he lasted so long.
I ask for his asylum papers but they didn't last
as a petrified tree might do.
Instead he sends a photo from his camera roll
Oranges, brassicas - a market stall
I wonder if it reminds him of home.
I think of other things he's taken
round the world
To tell stories of belonging.
A woven blanket; a recipe, or the way his father
taught him to whistle.
Perhaps one day his wonders
will be greeted like the tree
As if his life is unique
As if his existence is a marvel
As if he were always meant to be here.
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