Master of Two Worlds

Back in her room, Maha buried herself deep into her covers. Her cheeks were still wet, and she could still hear the people protesting.

Outside her window,

the clouds were red, and the stars were white.

And the people in the streets were pouring milk into their eyes,

holding rectangles with

markings on them,

faces baggy, tears black.

Not waiting for somebody to save them,

but trying to save themselves.

The sky was black and blue

and if she were to get up and peak outside,

she would see spaceships.

Instead, the little girl cupped her hands together

and brought them to her eyes.

She didn’t expect to see anything in them,

but in the distance,

she could see

a Girl with dark skin

moving the wind.

The chants were growing louder now,

so loud that she felt like she was outside too,

feet worn and tired, but a passion hot and red.

SAY HER NAME!

they shouted outside her window.

A modern day hurricane

rain, wind, injustice, and rage

SAY HER NAME!

Suddenly, there was glass raining at the foot of her bed.

It twinkled red and blue under the glow of police lights;

a bottle had flown through the window

and a gust of wind followed close behind.

With the air came soft words,

curling around the little girl’s ear:

I am Mira.

That is my name.