The Day They Killed My House.
My mother was one ...
..my father another.
The years pass.
I haven’t seen them since .
The link is my memory
A climb over dead bodies to get out.
I am without a country...
Who am I ?
The day they killed my house
I became an old child ...
....on a floor
....sleeping
....Hoping
The grenade did not have my name on it.
In my dreams before.....
Before my injured hand
I never said
I was born to suffer
I did not know a refugee ...meant me
Looking for stale bread
I close my eyes ....nothing
Written on my wish list
... nothing.
In my day is
A
Rat war...
What are they fighting for ?
...blood thick as treacle
Was all I ever saw
From war ...
The children called out
Do not go to war.
But fathers never hear.
They never hear.
The day they killed my house
My mother died.
Kristine Byrne sept 1st 2013