My Home is Gone.

I remember those days,
When I was a little girl,
So much in need of protection,
For Saddam could send a missile anytime.

I remember those nights,
When my family and I would sleep under our home's stairs,
Which served as our shelter.
I remember hearing the alarm drills,
Warning us of an upcoming attack.
Yet, I do not recall being scared
Not even once.
Not even during the three months that I lived in Kaazeroon.
A small city close to Shiraz.
I was there with some relatives,
To stay away from possible air strikes.

I carried as much a normal life as I could have during those years.
I would go to school,
I would worry about my grades and rank.
I would watch my afternoon cartoons.
I was never scared.

What is it now,
That so many years later,
In such a safe country
With so many resources,
Where any help is a phone call,
Or maybe a credit card number away,
I worry so easily?

What is it now,
That even when I talk everyday to my parents,
And yet they play their role in reassuring me they are fine,
I worry so much.

Oh, my home is gone,
I am so far away,
I am so helpless,
I have no shelter to turn to,
I am not my parents' little girl anymore,
I am facing the whole world alone.

I have much greater appreciation for how my parents carried life
For I know now how hard it is to stay calm
They gave me a home.
A home I felt safe in.
A home I have not been able to build for myself yet.
A home that may never be replaced.

My home is gone now.
My home is gone.
And I am watching it falling apart.
My home is gone.