Victor dos Anjos

Victor dos Anjos

A little girl was walking
Sands and memories under her feet
“Where’s my doll?”, she was wondering
“Where are my parents?”, she was looking for them.
A little girl was walking
Without bags in her hands
She was needing help
“Where's my doll?”
“Where are my parents?”
“Where am I?”
She could be in Ukraine
She could be in Gaza
She didn't remember
but she was thinking about “casa”.
She couldn't recognise that place
She couldn't see a familiar way
A little girl was walking
“What was my name?”
She felt tears in her mind
She would love to have a mirror in her hands
“If I can see my face…”
“... I can remember about my way.”
She was thinking a lot
She was walking in the street
She was not alone
Helplessness was the reality.
“Where's my doll?”
“Where are my parents?”
“Where am I?”
Other people in the streets
Other holes in their hearts
Same and different
Same and different
She was watching a star
Coming from the sky
And the star exploded
Pieces of tragedy in their lives.
Mom and dad were her thoughts
And her doll
“It was a gift!”
“It's a physical memory!”
She needed help
She would love to scream it
But she couldn't do it
“Everyone needs help here!”
She was a little girl
Without heart anymore
She was a woman
Baptised by the tragedy
Your history was raped
By missiles from another country.
She saw a little doll
So close to the rubble
But it wasn't her doll
The details were different
And she saw a body
Other children like her
But without movements
And so close to the doll
She couldn't scream
She wanted it
She really wanted it
She could be a fruit
Matured by the tragedy
But she still was a little girl
And she was looking for her parents.
“Where's my doll?”
“It was a gift from them!”
“Where are my parents?”
“I don't know where I am!”.