She cries in silence
As if no one will know
But I feel her sorrow
As her shoulders rise and fall
It’s my secret, so many I hold inside
In the morning she will smile apologetically
As the rumbling of her stomach sings
In harmony with mine.
It didn’t rain last night
The dusty wind did not blow
No drops of water in our tent
No new dust coating our clothes
The firecrackers in the dark sky
Were silent, there was no show
No trembling of the ground
Of winged dragons screeching overhead
Last night there was no screaming,
Loud or soft, outside or in my head.
We cuddled close, I grabbed her warmth
Wrapped in my mother’s arms
She sang her soft little song
She stroked my cheek, she held me tight
I felt mine and her sharp bones
I wished we could just stay like this
Eyes tightly closed, whilst I made my wish
But as the camp slowly sleeps, my wish has not come true.
There is no school for me today
Though we draw signs with sticks in the mud
I miss my friends, my books, my pens
I wonder where they are.
Baba, he disappeared one day
Amma just shakes her head
As she gazes down I see,
The tear that has escaped
I think I remember his big laugh
As he threw me to the sky
I think I can feel his big strong hands
As he caught me, but the image just fades away
In our old cold dark tent, a photo is all that remains.
Sometimes I think my thoughts seep away
They jumble when I shake
When the ground trembles, so do I
Please make it go away.
I had a sister, Yasmeen was her name
We laughed and talked and played
She grew tall, the men would look
Then one day Amma said she was grown,
And a fine wife she would make
I glimpsed her every now and then, but she seemed so different
Her eyes cast down, marks upon her face
And she got fat and walked so slow
Then Amma was called to her one night
When she came back in the morning
The camp was quiet that day, but all I heard
Were Amma’s sobs. She whispered her baby had slipped away.
We stand in line for water, the trucks are on the way
Maybe I can ride on one, see high above to grant
My wish, to find the yellow butterfly – if I follow it
It’ll guide the path back home.
ii.
every day I must bear it
every day I must try
every day of survival
every day for my child
we had to leave, the shelling
we really had to go
the windows were long broken
the walls were cracked and torn
we burnt all the tables
and then all the chairs
we stuffed paper in the children’s socks
they had outgrown their shoes
first they came for my cousin
then they came for my man
left alone with two children
I waited and I waited, but then I ran
this old tent is my shelter
this old tent is now my home
we were four, then were three
la la, I can’t let him be alone
first there was measles, vaccines nowhere to be seen
the fridges did not work, there was no electricity
then the constant diarrhea,
no clean water with which to clean
my world grew small, my world grew dark
picking through the rubbish,
breathe through my mouth to ignore the stench
i don’t know how to feed my child
but when the trucks come, I stand obediently in line
on the mercy of the strangers
who seek to feed and clothe me
but there is not enough soap in the world
for me to ever feel clean
if I had more bangles, perhaps he could go to school
or I could find a doctor, someone to cure his cough
i want to return home one day
but I am not the same
how will they receive me?
in my eyes, surely, they’ll know my shame
for my purdah has been taken
with it my self-respect
i had no more bangles left to sell
in desperation I acted
the miserly promise of food
the empty promise of work
he promised all those things to me
but the cost? All of my worth.
my daughter was a blessing
but another mouth to feed
they came to me again and again
until I finally agreed
a child it’s true, but a woman too
until she was with child
she was too weak, too malnourished
that Night, I too, did die.
we all need healing. Of our bodies, of our minds.
we need to face our demons
the evil we have seen
before we are worthy of the journey to Paradise
I need my anchor of support, I need to find our family,
I need to learn to live again, forgive myself
For this brand upon my back
I saw a butterfly today; its wings shivering in the breeze
I cried please take me with you, guide my path and take me home.
Homa S. Hasan is a Humanitarian by day and a Poet by night. She utilises art and the spoken word in her work. Technical data when presented as a form of storytelling has a deeper connection to the reader. Homa writes and performs poems live every Sunday.