Were it Not for the Darkness

I’m not pretending to know what refugees go through, not even a little bit. But as I’ve been reading personal stories of those who have been displaced I can’t help but imagine myself in their shoes. And I wonder if it is possible for them to find shards of hope within the wide chasm of their hopelessness… 

 

Once celebrated for its fragrant, luscious olives, our province is now well known as an exporter of shattered, devastated people.

 

Run-aways.

 

Overnight outlaws.

 

Refugees.

 

We who fled on foot. And then drifted on water.

 

Oh, the immense darkness of the sea:

All encompassing. Suffocating. Black as pitch.

 

But were it not for the darkness, we would not know the existence of stars.

 

A distant spark.

A light.

A promise.

 

A glimmer of hope

For that which is not yet visible

But a reality all the same

Just as breath must pass through the cold to be seen,

And the day which rises from the east must first endure the night

So, too, hope comes to life only in the midst of despair.

 

A glimmer of hope;

Can you see it?

Among the millions that have been displaced and forgotten for so long, individual names are being remembered and spoken and are becoming known.

 

A glimmer of hope;

Can you hear it?

Above the rattle of tanks and gunfire and the hammer of running feet, erupts the sharp, impulsive cry of a newborn babe.

 

A glimmer of hope;

Can you smell it?

Through the stench of tear gas and gun smoke and death, cuts a fresh glorious rainfall that stirs and revives the sun-parched earth.

 

A glimmer of hope;

Can you taste it?

From within the smack of dust and stale air and the metallic tang of blood, emerge memories of warm falafel, savoury olives, and sweet honey in the comb.

 

Will there be falafel and olives and honey in the new land?

Will the rain and the earth smell the same?

Will all lives matter?

Will someone know and speak my name?

 

Of these things I cannot be certain. But when glimmers such as these appear, I must grasp them.

Hold on tightly to that which presents to me a future.

Any future.

For surely that which comes after is better than that which has come before.

 

I must hold on tightly.

 

Were it not for the cold, I may not be reminded I still have breath.

Were it not for the night, I may not be reminded of the dawn that is to come.

 

Were it not for the darkness, I would not know the existence of stars.