| The
Art of Simko Ahmed |
| Kurd
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10 years ago I was one of those refugees, my baggage where over my head,
leavening my childhood area and my dreams when I was a little kid, adult ,
yes we do left our city "Sulaimania" heading to the mountains, lost people
like arnt lining toward the borders of Turkey and Iran, it was borders
inside our lost home. Was 1st time to see my mother so exhausted and dirty
with unkind muddy rain walking helpless for weeks without food and water, we
were not used to that kind of hard life, it was like a long nightmare, the
saturated blanket over my head got so heavy I had to throw it away. At
night no light could be seen, millions of people left the city and heading
to unknown destiny. Some times I lost my family at darkness I even didn't
had a match to lighten and find them, when the thunder came I could see my
sister's face under the heavy spring rain, I have never seen her face like
that before, her blondish hair turn to be dirty muddy brown, that time I
felt fear of death, I didn't want to see anybody of my family to die at that
scary and sad scenario, since my childhood I had scared of muddy face that
reminds me of death. That night everybody were like the death walking, some
people with walking with no voice apart of their feed sound. Everybody were
walking on the asphalted road fear of land mines under the flowers of the
natural soil. That road that has been inside the forbidden area as most of
the part of my country since a decade, the road was like a forehead of
tired old women, tired of pain and sad for her son that became the fuel for
unfair war!
When the steps got less energy and my eyes started to mix up the views I saw
many old women and kids, old man and hospitalized people on the bed of
hospital were dieing under the rain beside the muddy and dirty road. Under
my saturated and heavy blanket I was singing (day and day we go and go to
where we don't know).
Today after 10 years I'm in Peshawar the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan
in the new century's warland want to help all those women and kids refugees
who look like my mother, their muddy faces remind me about her.
My sister left the country lives in Germany as a refugee and want to forget
that long nightmare, lives in a small house far away from all her dark
memories.
My mother stayed where she has the 1st love and 1st kiss in her life, she
want to stay close to grave of her husband, and water the flower of the
remain of her garden, since then never happened one table to get all of us
together, to laugh and have a warm afternoon chai under the shadow of the
sweet pomegranate tree in our garden. Still my peaceful thinking before I go
to bed is the smell of the narcissus flower of my mother's garden, the green
grass that is watered with my childhood's tears, the green carpet of the
lawn that witnesses my dreams, hope and LOVE.
Simko Ahmed
Kabul
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