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Go.

Go. 

Home was no longer home,

For her.

Home was a death sentence.

The bombs they roared.

The fires they burnt.

The bodies, the remains piled up.

The streets of life, of love,

Became ruins.

Doomed for the start.

She watched each day,

The pain, 

The fear.

It replaced what remained of the naive mind of a youthful gaze.

It faded away.

The wind carried her tears,

Silently along with the dust of the city.

A child’s crying,

Silenced by fear.

Then silence by the expectation,

This is life.

This is how it goes.

Each day another friend, 

Another family.

They passed away.

Just stas on the second half of the news.

Home was no longer home.

So she must go.

The day her dad was gone.

A new widow and a grieving child.

They left everything behind,

The life they had made.

Her mother whispers into her ear,

As they walk barefoot through a warzone.

Don’t look back,

There is nothing left to see.

We can be alright.

I swear we’ll be alright.

She lied.

Uncertainty with a chance of opportunity,

fed her mind with pretty thoughts and white lies.

As she fought through the long nights,

And the hunger pains.

The fire,

The bomb,

They followed her.

Nightmares were no longer fiction,

 just her mind as it replayed her past days.

Crowded tents with older men.

But still,

she persisted.

The sunrise,

It was in sight but her mother,

Was tired.

Sick,

Curable here but not there.

Her death bed,

A dirt track.

Just before the fence.

The barbed wire,

The end of the beginning.

She cried by her mother’s side,

I won’t leave you.

I won’t do this alone.

But after a cough and a groan,

Her mother replied,

Just go.

Just go.

No mother would send their child into the sea, 

the unknown,

Unless the water was safer than the land.

She thought to herself,

If they know.

If they know would they change their minds?

Could they,

Would they find the kindness in their hearts?

She liked to think so.

As she walked through streets of wealth,

With no money in her pocket,

They shouted,

“Those immigrants, they’re taking our jobs!”

Men marched, 

On borrowed land.

Fists in the air.

“Send her home!”

She walks,

through cobbled streets.

Alone.

Her head is down, 

Facing the ground.

Her feet have walked a thousand miles,

Just the know what solid, certain ground is like.

She takes a deep breath,

She sees its.

The houses,

The home.

That hate her kind.

The men, women and children,

They stare her down.

She bites her nails,

Never looking up from the ground.

They still open their mouths.

Her mother told her this land would be gold.

But as she walks.

The men they open their mouths,

She needs a hug but all she get is a,

“Get out!”

And she cries the same tears.

But still,

they tear her down.

She needs a hand to hold,

But all she gets is a,

Go back home.

They say,

to a girl with not home,

they say,

go.

Just go. 

 

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