Statistics
His worries showed on his face
As he furrowed his eyebrows
Sweat trickling down his cheeks
Leaving behind a trail of sorrows
Barefoot he was not, when he
Started the journey
But somewhere on the way, his
Footwear had broken the ties
His blistering feet oozing blood
Begging for a moment of rest
But rest was not so easy to come by
Though the peaceful one was lurking around
His shoulders stooped with the burden
And hands pulling along the baggage
His last attempts he recalled, were
To gather along whatever he could
His young girl trailed behind him
With at least one footwear intact
Teary-eyed, moans escaping her lips
As her thoughts wandered about her lost doll
Their stomachs growling with hunger
Throats dry as sand yearning for water
Helpless people collapse around them
As the brutal sun spewed hot flames
His wife and friends have perished
Met their death on the tracks
The authorities have renamed them
Statistics they are now called
He has to walk faster braving all the
Obstacles on their way home
Lest he might fall prey to the situation
And end up being called a statistics
Sydney Billford Monteiro
