Samariddhi of Al Jazeera pens the hidden realities and hopes of underage migrants
(I)
There is a girl who runs from a reality
Her feet were never set
She ran from all the words
Her heart had never said
There is a girl who runs from a reality
Her feet tattered and torn
Leaving behind bloody footprints
But she still ran towards the hope she was offered
There is a girl who ran from a reality
Where her family had slept on lies
Her feet carry her away
To a world she believed was free of the untrue
The girl who ran away from the reality
She believed that she knew
Her heart told her, as she held on
“We’ll finally be free”
(II)
The girl who ran from her reality
Would be breaking and blue
Her hand was crushed, her body torn
Her hope still persisting
The girl who ran from her reality
Still worked, day and night
For her family whom she loved
Her fingers covered in blisters
as she traced the memories she once knew
The girl who ran from her reality
The one she believed she was familiar to
Accepted the world
She was thrusted into
She settled for what she was used to
Even if, it was the feeling of pain
For she had no choice, her world now mundane
As her past peeked through
She couldn’t leave
She couldn’t hide
Her world crashed down
As she yelled, “Stop! Stop!”
(III)
It has been years
She longed to leave
It had been years
Since she saw her family
She traces the time, trapped in memory
As she sits quietly by the road
Her heart beating slow
Her voice finally silenced
She would never again speak
She would never again feel pretty
But she would always remain beautiful
Just as beautiful as the day she ran
Hidden in horrors she was forced in
She would stay permanently
Once in a while, speaking
With a voice that doesn’t use words
So. Listen.
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