They were Circassians.
For over 130 years lived in Syria.
Than the town bombed, their homes destroyed.
They had nothing to lose,
held each other's hands and went on the way.
They did not join a group,
didn't payd for smugglers to drown in the sea.
They took the landway, simply walked away
passing destroyed towns, across deserts
over mountains, trough valleys...
Rivers they crossed
peaceful or rough countries.
For seventeen months they were on the way.
Had good people met and bad
they saw destructed life, violence so many.
Forced into hiding and going away.
Nowhere they could stay.
The path was staying the goal.
They came to the land of their ancestors
but there wasjust not a good place.
They moved further north
feet they wore far.
Fatigue and dust of the journey in their faces.
In the endless vast they stopped for a break.
Leaning against each other, they sat in front of their small tent
under the large tent of stars
and she asked:
Do you hear them singing?
And he heard it too.
Far in the distance.
someone was singing.
And through the song sounds a little bit
Witten for Wednesday Wit and Wisdom
The exercise is to write a story to a picture.
Today I've changed it and wrote to a song.