young girl in pink

When I was six
Mom was holding my hand tightly
As tight as she could
Brother, older sisters holding hands
Everyone carrying at least something
Dad carrying grandma on his back
              The warm weather
Darkness everywhere
Fear all over our bodies
The voice of the people-smuggler in our ears:
                        Fast! Hurry! Run! This way! Quiet!
                        Crouch down! Stop!
                        Freeze! Stay awake!
The rough road, the sharp stones
              Mom, my slippers got holes
              My feet are hurting
                         Be quiet my dear
                         We’ll be there soon
Lost my slippers
              Mom, my slippers are gone
They broke completely
                          Carry on, my love, it’s fine
              Can we relax for a bit?
                           No, hush . . .
I am tired, hungry                      
The stones are hurting my feet
Finally, a smile from the smuggler —
                          Congratulations, we’ve passed the border!
Thank God, we are alive!

By Farahnaz

Photo from Wild Frontiers Travel