the scars we carry.

our scars are not so visible – we weren’t the ones caught behind barbed wires, wondering whether we’ll see tomorrow.

we didn’t lose our siblings – their names edged in our hearts and yet forgotten in history’s pages.

we didn’t hear the dull growing sounds of fighter jets overhead and run for our lives into the underground bunkers – neighbours all huddling close in closed quarters and hoping that they will miss our homes in their attacks.

we didn’t lose our youth to war – our hopes and dreams disappearing before our eyes, as we ran from wall to wall watching our backs.

we don’t remember the faces of the people we lost, their eyes losing it’s spark over time from the atrocities witnessed.

No – we are the generation that came after. We only heard the stories with teary laughs – making light of the horror.

We were only the therapy dogs soothing with no words of comfort.

We are the generation that came after. We only remember the harrowed silences following any questions asked. Words escaping their troubled memories.

We only know the confusion of our identities, existing between the nightmares of yesterday and the dreams of tomorrow.

We were only the epitome of their dreams and hopes. The generation that came after.