Moda

02 April 2016
Istanbul

The bottom of the Mediterranean is coated thick with bodies. Tens of thousands of tons of cold hard water weighing on the dark and lifeless shapes. The newly dead join them, as they have for years past, and will continue for years to come. But now, in this moment, the bodies come more quickly, and in greater numbers: hundreds at a time, thousands in a month. Sinking slowly, over days, tossed and buoyed by currents.

At home, mothers and fathers will wait for word of a safe passage, until their own deaths end the waiting. Wives will slowly lose the hope in their hearts, and they will despair. Lovers will curse their own eyes for crying themselves dry. Children will look North and West.

And more will set out. Boats filled only with sun-bleached skeletons wash up on far distant shores, half a world away. Who are the luckier ones?

And I sit here, watching the waves lap these rocks, afraid to look at my reflection in the water. Mine will only be met by lifeless eyes, looking back up at me.