Amina, a girl

You look like what my grandmother 

would have looked like, small and contained 
like a shipment box on a rickety boat
aren't we tired yet of talking about the sea?

maybe we are but we are still unable 
to find dry land, because drier lands breed 
no future, just bucket-loads of dust 
that piles to become make-shift houses 

scary, isn't it? These thoughts coming from everywhere
and nowhere. From a lack of sleep 
that characterizes itself in heavy eyelids 
matching creativity

Amina, the name is a story
like my grandmothers' 
to keep you awake
a child gets reaped

by will or by war
this is a story that births itself 
in my water-filled lungs 
everyday