... and she looked – piercing through the hundred of unknown faces, everybody staring at one single direction – the direction of the sun.
It wasn’t very long back that the mother happily died after seeing the two beautiful eyes of the baby she just gave birth to - happy and content that the baby would grow up well. Strangely enough it was the time of war..... still the beauty in the eyes never faded – the sun came up every morning and mother died a “happy death”.
Today standing with a crowd of refugee the baby saw the same beauty – “beauty of the rising sun and beauty of sleeping on a rug and seeing a dream of a loaf of bread.”
Seeing purity to the core has always been the most difficult – the facade, the grandeur easily comes handy and most likely it stays. Probably it will be right to remember that the futility of war is best known by the ones claiming the winning robe and experience disturbed nights.
The refugee camps were the best place to be – at least the girls thought so. She got her food (hardly) , but her blanket .. the salty (yet), the drinking water and most of all the feeling of belonging – belonging to a crowd – a group of like(minded or not) people. Strange, but it wasn’t so much different from the lands of the (so-named) “powerful country lands” – babies here cried with as much sweetness (more hunger maybe) and played the same football (or soccer) and fought over the same foul play.
Still something was strange – a phone kept ringing all the time ..... even in the darkest of the nights or the busiest afternoon – nobody picked up the call....
“... and (still) she looked – piercing through the hundred of unknown faces, everybody staring at one single direction – the direction of the sun.” ....and (still) she looked - ...
