Hegira* I can answer words that wound like knives, filling the air with ice; even if stung, I need only lie low, hug the walls, muster my replies. Compared to yours, my slights are small. You were exiled from home; the world watched as you trekked through deserts of shale, and black mountains glowered; your futures unknown, carrying your lives in sacks, running from tyranny with no way back. I was drenched in sun, and roses were dressed in velvet pink, a last fling at Summer's end; I laughed, ate plenty and drank, not fearing to wear what I chose, or say what I think. You had no voice, no words, yet I was blessed You had no words.
Olivia Brookfield *Hegira – Arabic word meaning exodus from persecution - pronounced 'Hujra'.
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