When I was a crawling child,
I was kicked out from my house,
made of mud and straw,
with my family,
during a war my country had.
I can’t remember it.
We had a lot!

I was a child,
but I watched it all.
I saw armed soldiers with heavy helmets,
carrying guns with woody handles.
I saw armored Personnel vehicles,
carrying more soldiers.
and boxes of weapons.
There were artilleries,
stationed miles away,
bombing my neighborhood,
randomly.

I saw blindfolded and handcuffed men from my town,
standing against a wall.
A young soldier with a hateful smile and deep piercing eyes faced them,
with his pistol.
Their blood splashed on the wall after few seconds.
My father and big brother were there too.

After few days,
I woke up in a tent,
donated by the good people.
Nothing was heard,
but the murmurs of the refugees,
gathered around a truck of bread and soup.

I was alone;
all alone,
at night,
considering the rest of my family lost.

I had none,
but the big white moon above me.
I stayed up talking to it.
and praying to God above it.

Mohammed Arafat
30-03-2019