Exodus

 Exodus

Fear gripped us, cold as the wind’s hollow moan,
A family trembling, no shield, not one stone.
We fled the green valley, its orchards, its streams,
With hearts like cracked mirrors, unstitched at the seams.

No farewell was whispered, no glance cast behind,
Just the ghosts of our footsteps, erased by the blind.
The earth where we planted, where love first took root,
Now a scar in the memory, a wound left mute.

Never to return? No—never’s too kind.
The past is a country we’re barred to find.

The cold of December, Nineteen Ninety, bit sharp,
A knife in the ribs of the night, dark and charred.
The air clenched to ice—even the winds seemed to mourn,
As if heaven itself wept for the land we had torn.

Could I withstand this cold? My bones screamed No,
But the road stretched before us, relentless as snow.
No ember of mercy, no sign, not a track—
We walked. We were shadows. No turning back.