If we ever get to see our home, are we going to recognise it? If we ever get to go back will it be a home again? Are we going to remember the sounds of laughter or the wailing we last heard?
I remember us running out of our own homes, some of us with our breasts dangling and our children were too scared to make their crying voices heard. We saw our husbands going down as the red liquid gushed out of their bodies yet we couldn't stop to mourn them.
We couldn't turn to take a last look at our homes. Though we were aware of the fires that started behind our backs. Most of our feet were touching the back of our heads just to stay safe.
Our children closed their eyes in fear yet we were able to see how scared they were through the same eyes. They were hungry and so we were yet we couldn't stop running. Even if we did, there was nothing to get filled with.
We were gathered in a place at last just to be safe. Our children began to be malnourished and what was visible in them were the same fearful innocent eyes. The meals we're given in this place makes me remember our fertile soil and the abundance of food in our bans. We're forced to wear the same clothes we left home with that night.
We might never get to see home ever again. We are likely to remain in a foreign land till our hearts get shut.
Incase you get to see our home, just get little sand from it so we'll keep for our children just incase they don't die of hunger.
