The pebble bounces off his helmet
And the soldier turns to me
His eyes ablaze with fury
He barks at me to stop
But I will not.
In a country that is no longer my own,
Throwing stones at those who’ve claimed it
Is the smallest form of rebellion.
The only possible rebellion.
So I throw another stone.
He starts forward with his gun
Threatening to shoot
I cannot help but laugh
And this rock bounces off his forehead.
I turn and run
As he races after me.
My blistered feet hit the dirt road
With crumbling houses on every side
And sobbing women sitting at broken-down doorsteps
Clutching tiny corpses to their chests.
I jump over a rundown fence
And through some poor farmer’s cornfield.
A bullet whistles past my head
And there’s a ringing in my ears
As suddenly I picture my mother
Crying over my dead body.
But I know I can outrun them.
I do so every day.
Because this is my life
As the child of a war-torn country.
