Only five years old, I’m not grown-up yet.
But my eyes feel so tired and older.
My Mama cries lots, her cheeks always wet,
and at night it gets colder and colder.
Big, noisy things always fall from the sky.
Green men always running and shouting.
Don’t play on the street! I ask Mama why
but she says there’s a war. No more outings.
Brother didn’t come back from school one day.
They won’t tell me why, or where he has gone.
Mama packs bags. We must leave now she says.
No room for my dollies. Not even one.
I don’t understand all this but please see
in the heart of it all, a child like me.