By Hussein Atoui | Staff Writer

Blue sky, with a gentle breeze, 

Birds soaring high, liberating. 

I can’t help but feel envy— 

What is it like to be free? 

I think of home once in a while, 

When I can’t sleep, 

In the middle of the night. 

I think of home, 

And what once used to be. 

The dreams, the memories, 

Of the person I used to be, 

And the life before the flee. 

The cold breeze whispers to my ears, 

And the flying birds seem to disappear. 

But you’re still there, in front of me, 

Buried beneath your own debris. 

Life now is a miserable reality, 

Reminding me that none of us are truly free.