The plight of innocence

Published by M Johnson on

She keeps on asking
Where she went
When she is coming back
And wondering when we’ll ever go home
Wondering why we left in the first place

She enquires of her little brother
The one they’d play together
And reminds me of their teacher at school
Who had told them of this saying
East or west, home is best

Perhaps I should tell her
Or maybe give her a hint
Spill out the truth and tell her
Why we had to run away
Why we left our home
Why we might never go back

But she’s fragile
And she cries often
Watching other kids as they play
Besides the formless shelters
And the grieve stricken faces
Of parents, brothers, strangers
Innocent villagers, in a foreign land

So, I hold her hand tight,
And tell her that all is going to be well
That soon we’ll go back home
And see our once lovely house
And perhaps meet her lovely mom, and brother
And sit on our awesome veranda
Though I left it on flames