Trying to be a Kid Again

Walking through the rubble
Under a clear blue sky,
I watch a little boy
Rummaging by and by.

Wise beyond the years that drag his
Back that is hunched too low,
He bends at a tire difficult to miss,
And dusts off debris with a blow.

Eyes black as night and
Keen as if he stole,
Skin bronzed in the sun, yet
In his step there is still soul.

His skilled fingers untangle wire
His warm blood the oil that smooths its untamed locks.

And here his smile hesitates and tries to
Look normal but soon dies
Because he knows that
His life is all a lie.

As I crouch and
Him trying to be a kid again.

Muneeza Sheikh (2016)

Inspired by a interview by CBC on a Syrian refugee sharing his memories in Syria.



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