My friends….
when they came with guns
they looted everything
my house, my shop
my orchards
my sheep and goats
cows and donkeys.
My history
my music
my family roots
my mother’s jewelry
and
my father’s rusty gun.

They …
ruined my schools
raped my dolls
orphaned my children
widowed my sisters
and I kept silent- like stones or tombs
stones or tombs?

But no….! no!
No, my friends no!
I proved worst…
they stood there where they were
stubborn and poised.
They cried, shout and rose to the occasion too!
and I ran away…..
because I was a man!
and because we lacked
alphabets of courage
in our dictionaries
and words of bravery
in our textbooks
where….
to flee was a curse
bitter than death!

Farid Gul, London, 30 October 2009