• Ask the wounded
Her name was Samia.
Not because it was special, but because it was familiar like so many others!
That day, Samia only wanted to arrive early.
She held her notebook tightly
and kept telling herself, that if she were late,
her turn to road would be paused next week.
Then
The sound came.
Not loud enough to be explained
and not quite enough to be forgotten.
When she opened her eyes, the world was no longer in its place.
Time seemed
to stop backward and breathe lost their rhythm.
Samia was wounded
but not only where the bandages were placed.
Days later,
Everyone asked her:
"Were you very scared?”
"Did it hurt?”
“What did you see?:”
Samia did not answer,
because no one was asking the right question.
No one asked what she thought in that moment!
Of a mother who had said that morning:
"Come back early"
Of a sentence still unwritten?
Or of a dream that was meant to pass through this city?
No one asked, what silence looked like after that sound. How silence can
sometimes break a person more loudly than any explosion.
Samia learned to live with her wounds.
Not heroically,
Not dramatically-quietly.
Each time she walked,
a small pain reminded her
that she was still alive.
And that alone was reason enough to keep going.
One day,
A girl sat beside her and asked softly:
"Can you still hope?”
Samia smiled
Not from happiness,
But from understanding.
She said
"Not asking the wounded how many seconds it lasted
Ask us ,why we still stand up. ”And that girl understood :
Some wounds are not an ending.
They are the beginning of a silent residence!
