Translated…
On this particularly quieted night, there’s an uprising slowly, brewing in the air, the soundlessness that I can’t understand beat like the lowered sounds of drums, rumbling inside my heart, we stayed close to each other, moving forward.
The barbed wire fences in the distance glowed from the moonlight, that, was the borders of life and death. Daddy said, after there, there’s hope for us but, we must, bow our heads down before hope, and, crawl forward.
The trials before the hopes, was short, and long lasting, the rings of blockades, decorated with the sharpened steel knives, like a line of the grim rippers with the scythes in hand, but why is it so beautiful like the wings of butterflies? Dad lifted up the obstructions for me, I’d smelled blood, I’d, looked back in shock.
The silvery butterfly broke free from the obstructions, started flying, flapping its beautiful wings, becoming the multi-colored candies, flying all over around us. Could this be, what hope looks like?
And, that, would be the trials, in this young child’s life, can you imagine, how much those refugees must’ve weathered, to escape persecutions from their own home countries, and, shouldn’t we, lend them a helping hand? After all, we all migrated from elsewhere, it’s just a matter of who was here first.
the art that came with this passage from the papers…
painting courtesy of UDN.com…
Life, the Obstacle Course 