Precious Things

She’s sitting on the edge of the sea
Only a backpack with her.
Remembering memories made on this very spot on the shore of the Mediterranean.
Years ago
Immature children wishing to go somewhere far away.
“I’ll swim across this sea and reach Egypt!”
“And I’ll swim and reach America!” Taha said.
Taha, Taha
Must not think of Taha
Taha, Taha
Where are you Taha?
Your land is burning
Your people are dying
They killed my family
They will surely come for me
The tears finally
Precious tears
She follows her left tear’s path over the cheek, under the chin
And finally into the sea.
She opens her backpack
After they came, she hastily dumped whatever she felt she wanted to take
A letter from a long-lost friend
Photographs of her first 10 birthdays
Scraps of colourful pieces of scented paper
Her mother’s earring
Her father’s sunglasses
Her school books
All follow the precious tear
Into the sea.
And after these precious items,
Her own body
And most precious of them all,
Her mind
Full of memories.


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