The sound of explosions permeates my days.
Thoughts, memories, images, feelings
t(a)inted by cacophony, shaken and blurred.
In my youth, I lived in the minefield,
lulled to sleep by explosions.
Blissful ignorance, my only safeguard,
broken when I stepped on a mine.
Thus began my escape;
occasional safezones blown to pieces,
glimpses of oases drowned by dust.
Sometimes, the explosions are close. They scare me, for they remind me of my past dwelling.
I put on my bag and run, only to hear the chirping birds and see the playing children.
I remember that I have no need to run.
In my no man's land, I am safe.