top of page


London, 2010

Father, who were you before I came to be?

Who were you when you were free?

Living in that far off place,

member of another race.

Fishing and swimming in summer’s haze,

skiing or skating on winter’s days.

Riding your horse, taking care of your deer,

you lived for a while without knowing fear.


What did they look like, those faceless men,

who drove you out and forced you then

to live like animals in a cage,

what did you do to calm your rage?


They stole your parents, and your youth,

using weapons of hate, their minds uncouth.

You grew up fast, how long would it last?

The world had turned red

and millions were dead.


When the turmoil finally ended,

whatever remained was carefully mended,

You would have returned,

but the maps had been burned,

new borders constructed,

your country destructed.


An exile in a foreign land,

speaking a language you didn’t understand.

Cut off from friends and family and home,

in a city full of people, you lived alone.


Photographer and jazz musician,

you adjusted to your new position.

Dancing and singing, you learned to cope,

your dreams of old now held some hope.

Laughter came back into your life,

no longer alone, you now had a wife.


One day I’ll fly like you,

up in the skies so clear and blue.

One day it’ll all come true,

that dream of yours,

now my dream too.

bottom of page