I suppose one day, this key of mine will be in use.
When the roots of the trees have grown over the ruins, of what used to be my city.
When the gunpowder in my chest will fade, as the time goes on.
Until then, I’ll let the dawn fall on.
And wait until I can call a this same old place a home.
Until that moment I’ll browse through the field of trees, with golden appels.
My dream of peaceful days are as sweet as persimmons.
My memory of Omas voice as vivid as the violets, she used to murmur quietly -
No man is free until the we accept kindness, until then we shall be wise and clever and more quiet than the mice, do take my word for it. I’ll save you the trouble and give some peace of mind.
Crying feels as bitter as holding sumac above my eyes,
I try my best to understand that emptiness is what welcomes me, but that does not feel right.
But I still believe that this old key of mine, will kiss a familiar door, at least one last time.
- Elza Hegazi
All the proceeds of this compilation will be donated to MECA (MiddleEastChildren'sAlliance)