I am a Syrian child,
I am a casualty of war,
My name is Fazia.

You go to school and sing nursery rhymes
I hide in corners at the sound of bomb shells;
You hug your siblings and say “good night”
I hurdle with my sister on a mat in utter terror;
You go to sleep with a story read to you
I go to bed praying it wouldn’t be my last night;
You stroll into town waving at trams
I run on lonely paths away from fighter jets;
You decorate your house with pictures and flowers
My house decorations are shrapnels and bullets holes;
You walk on paved streets, with street lights shining
I walk on streets littered with dead bodies, sometimes in the dark;
Your world is surrounded by beautiful houses
Mine is surrounded by ravaged and collapsed buildings;
You are surrounded by your mama, papa, and family
I only have my grandma, my parents died from airstrikes;
You eat breakfast, snacks, lunch, snacks, dinner, supper
Well, I eat when I find food, if I find food;
Your best friends are Sally, Tom and Tim
My daily companions are hunger, fear, poverty and pain
You buried your loved one and it makes you sad
I’ve buried my friends and families, it hurts everyday;
You cry sometimes, throw tantrums and act silly
I cry all the time, I hurt all the time, I’m getting tired of life;
I didn’t chose my family, I didn’t choose my home
If I had a choice, I will choose your home
Because I just want to have a normal childhood

I am a Syrian child,
I am a casualty of war.
My name is Fazia and it means successful.
What an irony!

Daily Prompt: Successful, Devastation

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