In
a distant but uncomfortably close land,
an
uncivil war created them.
They
tried to recall their lost years
like
brothers reminiscing a family vacation.
They
remembered the soldiers that hunted them.
But
they couldn’t agree which was more dangerous,
the
lions that stalked children on land
or
the crocodiles that snatched them in the rivers.
Dominic
shielded his face in his hands becoming
that 10 year-old lost in the dessert.
that 10 year-old lost in the dessert.
As
he looked up raising his head,
his
slender fingers wiped his confusion away,
a
mannerism he said he developed long ago.
Simon
sat still as his lost brother spoke,
and
smiled uncomfortably the way I’ve seen others do
when
they can’t sign their names
or
don’t understand English.
Speaking
of hunger and horrors I’ll never know,
They
described their tearless trail.
Tears
required water they didn’t possess
and
energy they couldn’t spare.
Their
silence told stories they couldn’t share
with those who aren’t of the Lost.
with those who aren’t of the Lost.
Their
dark eyes eternally roam,
assessing and searching
even in serene surroundings.
assessing and searching
even in serene surroundings.
Yet despite their conditioning,
they reached out to connect
another
gift from the desert.
This poem was inspired by an article I wrote for The Campus Ledger
