I cry for help, do you hear me?

Chapter 2

                                                                              Chapter 2

  I held the letter lightly between my fingers delicately, and read the words written there by my father. I gawped at the writing, the way the handwriting was written I instantly knew it was my father’s tasteful poems that he would read to me, and I knew it was valid.

I sat in utter darkness then suddenly, started hunting for his and his father’s belongings that have been wrinkled and crinkled and creased upon just like his dreams and life. I folded the letter in my ripped pocket, and sat with my mouth dry, and I cried oceans out of my eyes but I quickly wiped my tears as I heard footsteps,  I raised my head and I could see my mother smiling falsely.

“Oh my dear, habibti what are you doing?” She said,

“Mother, the usual looking around this place that I used to call home…” I replied…

“You know this is still your home, and forever will be habibti…” she said tearfully”

“Mother, I can’t find my bed, my friends, my people, and my toys I paused… Day by day mother they disappear”

She sat down on the half blistered and half shattered chair, “Just pray for your brothers and sisters out there son, and pray for us to be free one day Muhammad ” she said sorrowfully

“I do mother, I promise and I will not stop praying for us to be free until the day I die… I said proudly”

She smiled proudly. And walked to the kitchen.

Moments later, Jasmine came in running, breathing with short, quick breaths;

“Oh Jasmine, what’s wrong?” I said

She giggled.

“Oh Muhammad, I been running around, so much fun” she said, slowly

“Habibiti, you need to relax at times”

She interrupted “What’s that in your hands Muhammad?”

I quickly tried to change the subject

“So what did you do outside eh?” I said nervously.

Jasmine looked confused, she frowned “Let me see Muhammad, no time for hid and seek”

I laughed and showed her “Here you go”

“What is it?” she said confusingly

“It’s dad’s poetry that he would write”

She took the poetry off of me, and started reading it as if she knew what it meant.

“Oh right, it’s so beautiful”

I crease up “You have no idea what it means eh?”

She looked up, and said “No, but I was trying to look smart”

I fell down laughing “Oh habibiti you’ll always be smart, and this is just some words that dad wrote when he had time, he’d write about anything, the sky, how his day was, the past, the future, war”

“That’s so creative” she said cheerfully

I nodded and smiled back.

“Muhammad, how did daddy die?” she said