The Boy in the Ambulance
Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2016 2:25 pm
There are some images you can't forget. On August 18 a video of a little boy in an ambulance in Aleppo, Syria, flashed around the world. Those who haven't seen it can find it here: http://www.news.com.au/world/middle-eas ... 61d789d171
The Boy in the Ambulance
© David Campbell, 2016
He was there, the boy in the ambulance,
on the news on a late winter’s day
as I savoured a tasty lasagne
that would satisfy any gourmet.
In Aleppo, they said, there’d been bombing,
and this boy, who was only aged five,
had been rescued just then from the rubble,
very lucky that he was alive.
And now, dusty and dazed, he was sitting
up the back on an old plastic chair,
for a moment alone and bewildered,
as he wondered just why he was there.
Then he lifted his hand to his forehead
and he rubbed at the blood on his cheek,
and then stared at his hand in confusion,
but not one single word did he speak.
He just sat there as they went on filming,
and then rubbed both his hands on the chair
as if maybe that one simple action
could obliterate all his despair.
Then my granddaughter, innocent, laughing,
with some pasta sauce smeared on her face,
brought me back to the family table,
a return to the time and the place.
But I saw, in a moment of horror,
that same vision, with her sitting there,
and the image stayed, vivid and shocking,
as I rubbed my own hands on the chair.
The Boy in the Ambulance
© David Campbell, 2016
He was there, the boy in the ambulance,
on the news on a late winter’s day
as I savoured a tasty lasagne
that would satisfy any gourmet.
In Aleppo, they said, there’d been bombing,
and this boy, who was only aged five,
had been rescued just then from the rubble,
very lucky that he was alive.
And now, dusty and dazed, he was sitting
up the back on an old plastic chair,
for a moment alone and bewildered,
as he wondered just why he was there.
Then he lifted his hand to his forehead
and he rubbed at the blood on his cheek,
and then stared at his hand in confusion,
but not one single word did he speak.
He just sat there as they went on filming,
and then rubbed both his hands on the chair
as if maybe that one simple action
could obliterate all his despair.
Then my granddaughter, innocent, laughing,
with some pasta sauce smeared on her face,
brought me back to the family table,
a return to the time and the place.
But I saw, in a moment of horror,
that same vision, with her sitting there,
and the image stayed, vivid and shocking,
as I rubbed my own hands on the chair.