My dream is to know
by Basant al Gharabli
Age 11 – 14
My dream is to know who I am.
They stole my identity and they are stealing my life bit by bit.
My clothes got worn,
My so called house has become inhabited by insects.
Do I deserve that?
What was my sin to deserve seeing my hopes buried alive soon after birth?
I don’t know!
All I know is that I was born to a poor family
Barely securing the day’s bread
And being a female increased my pain.
I live on the margins looking for a dry crust,
Looking out for those who are only pretending to be fair.
What fairness is there on earth?
Is there justice really?
Is it fair to feel dead while I am still alive?
Is robbing my rights fair?
Is there justice in racial discrimination ?
Is there justice in « this girl » being my name forever, a name that I despise
I get no answers, no response, not the slightest attention.