Yesterday his youngest son had married.
His son belonged but Muhammad had been too preoccupied with family to grow his own roots. His suburban apartment echoed with Yasmin’s burial.
“This isn’t home.”, he lamented into air.
He prepared a cup of mint tea and let its fumes carry him to the Bazaar helping his father selling carpets.
Before he had to grow a beard and swear allegiance to their black flags.
Before he sneaked away at night.
Before the blisters.
Before the night at sea.
Loneliness will clear the cobwebs to the past and open up your wounds.
The first thing I thought about when seeing the picture was the old idiom/proverb “to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes”, and I thought about how refugees keep coming and imagine a future of an old man who once escaped. I imagine that you might feel at home in a new country when you have a family to support. But the moment when you are all alone I imagine you will feel uprooted again. I’m sure that this is what many immigrants have felt and will continue to feel in years to come.
Rochelle hosts the Friday Fictioeers and selects the image. Be sure to visit her blogs and be inspired. The community as such is one where you can tune your writing and find inspiration from others.
A movie and music to get in the mood.
September 20, 2017