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Knock* Knock*
The door says
Mother! Someone is at the door!
This rarely happens
The last time someone knocked on our door,
It was the bad news deliverer
The name in which I gave him
Mother walks silently to the door
Peeks out the hole
And laughs
Qayoom! I'm so glad you made it!
Mother gladly cries
Uncle Qayoom is here
All the way from India,
A safer place
I crawl from my room
From my morning reading
And wave at his tall figure
He waves back
Giving me a sign of happiness
And safety
Well, what are we waiting for?
Start packing!
He gladly says
We are going to America!
WHAT?
I think
AMERICA?
I run to my room,
Grab the dolls
And clothes my mom buys at the market
And pack them into my pink bag
The war must be moving close to home
Although we are leaving home,
I am very grateful for Uncle
Because we are now safe
At least I hope so...
YOU ARE READING
The Journey Home
PoetryIn this strikingly touching poem journal, follow the journey of a young afghan refugee, Ajani. As time passes in Kabul, Afghanistan, the capital and the city which she was born and raised in, she struggles to find serenity for her and her family. Th...
