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There was a little girl, with as lovely a name as Ezra

She liked peanut butter sandwiches and roasted almonds.

And illustrated books filled with riddles.

She liked the smell of crayons and the feeling of painting books with colours.

She loved the way her mother combed her hair and tied it up in two ponytails.

She felt joyful when she woke up in the morning and dreamt of clouds and rainbows.

She enjoyed getting ready for school, and raising her hand up in the air when the teacher asked a question.

It thrilled her to discover the magic of numbers and the secrets of arithmetic.

But lately, all she did was fear.

Fear for whether she would return home from school that day.

Fear for whether her father would return home from work that day.

Fear for her little brother growing inside mommy’s tummy.

Fear for her best friend Ayesha, as she was one of the ‘others’.

Fear for the big bad bombs dropping like hailstones from a sky which was falling apart.

Feared by the screams for help, and the desperate cries of small children.

Feared by Fear itself.

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In another corner of the world, there lives a lovely girl who goes by the name of Amelie.

She loved dressing up, and playing with her mother’s makeup.

She loved teasing her little brother, and making him cry.

She waited for weekends when she could meet her father, and they would eat ice cream and take a trip up the Eiffel Tower.

She adored her friends at school and looked forward to see them each day.

She loved putting her doll to sleep singing sweet French lullabies her grandmother used to sing for her.

She loved the sweetness in the simple pleasures of everyday.

But now, she lives in fear.

Fear of the deafening cries and the noise and the mad ruckus.

Fear of the noise of gunshots and the senseless commotion.

Fear of the thought of whether or not her father would make it past the injuries.

Fear of her mother’s soft cries at night, never once knowing that her daughter could hear them well.

Fear of staying home all day, waiting for the good old days to return and when she can go back to school.

Fear of finding the school corridors a little less full.

Fear of feeling unsafe and insecure each and every moment.

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The fear is the same. And for a child, it can be suicidal.

Wherever you are, sweet child of mine…Be safe, be warm, be protected, and be loved.

Till peace returns to this wretched world again, if it ever will.

And till then – be strong, be compassionate and believe.

Photo Courtesy: Ijholloway Photography (https://www.flickr.com/photos/desertrose76/8695427481/)