Ahmed Knew Little

Ahmed was playing with the three round pebbles he collected from the dirt.

He threw them around in the air,

and caught them at his whims

He tossed the fates of the pebbles

just like the people of the world

had tossed his.

Ahmed cheered along the birds that failed to chirp.

He could play for as long as he wanted;

mama would not call him for dinner.

Not today. Not ever.

Ahmed knew little of where mama was,

even littler of what became of baba.

He lived with the strangers of his tribe

in plastic tents that got too cold too soon,

too hot to nap in, and too flooded to live in.

Blankets were sparse. Food was scarce.

Ahmed spent most of his time with the three pebbles.

Mama, baba and Ahmed were not together anymore,

but in the world of pebbles, they lived happily ever after.

War had not broken their TV dinners,

their outings to the zoo, their family picnics,

and their playful fighting with sticks.

Mama and baba and Ahmed lived on the dirt of the refugee camp

like three pebbles that were meant to be forever, yet not exist at all.

Ahmed was playing with the three round pebbles he collected from the dirt.

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