She can still remember
That afternoon walk during her childhood
On the shoulders of her father.
At the time
She could not understand
Why the walk lasted a week
Why she never slept in her bed again
Why they had to move at night
Why the men in green uniform were not nice
Why it was dangerous to walk in fields
Where something else than flowers
Was planted in the ground.
Refugee in this new country
Prisoner of her village
Postcard superstar
She looks at me with her big almond eyes
Set above the golden coils around her neck
Which give the impression that her mind
Is now above all those memories.
I will be going back home one day
And you, when will you be going back?
Her face has been haunting my thoughts since our encounter.
It was on a warm sunny day of January.