My words are in hiding.
They went south
on orders by an enemy
in a language unknown
on internet connections silenced
on phones which could not be charged
written on leaflets
dropped from the sky
with the dumb bombs
which destroyed the words
where I reside
in hopeless desires
for peace, at first;
now, simply, not to die.
My words and I moved south
to promised safety.
My words and I could not speak
of what we saw
along the way
south,
leaning on false promises.
Still, my words must hide
in shelters bombed
despite the promise
despite the effort
carrying my words
which are my children,
silent, on my back.
Trapped, my words and I
with nowhere to go.
Without hope.
No one speaks words;
Only the bombs may speak,
with a language of their own.
A language no one understands.
One no one ever wants to hear.
My words hide here.
annarino writes 