A brisk, blustery cool wind blew past me, escaping into the marshmallow white clouds that hung loosely in the sky. I always wondered how a place could manage to be as icy cold as a crypt and at the same time have gods scorching morning star blazing alongside the clouds. There was a whole dimension of various seasons here all the time, never making us feel as though we lacked any climate in our life. Though we didn’t lack any experience in relation to nature, we did however lack basic comfort due to our constant struggle against the enemy.
As i walk now further into the city, I see the the wrecked buildings that were razed by the drones, flying overhead a few days ago, wisps of silver-grey smoke spreading from their engines and demolishing everything in its path. All we can do is condemn such atrocities and stare at the gbroken, scattered bricks of the once merlot and ricotta counters of the candy store we loved to visit; when it was actually full of life. The road was the only infrastructure that could be trusted as it survived the weapons of destruction, and one could not venture into the countryside without risking a fall in a hole or being caught in a barbed wire.
We used to see uniform spring green grass swaying in the wind before the war but now beyond the meadows all I see is tussocks and flattened pickle green grass, each tuft now dull yellow in the sun, and clear patches where innocent lives are buried; no cobblestones to indicate their significance in the world. From the distance all one can hear is slight chirping of birds and an unavoidable nothingness is all that life has become now, waiting for our rescue team to return and take us away from the country we once called our home.
The silence after war is like a void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass, noise that is produced by the after effects of the destruction. Screeching sounds of bridges falling, cries for help and also the lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the despair of not hearing the beating of a human heart.
I feel the decrepitude of my childhood now that I realise how time has passed too quickly, from peace to war, from the smell of lilacs on a cool spring morning to the metallic smell of blood even before dawn. As my blistered feet come into contact with the ground, I attempt to grasp the only memory of a tranquil life I had in this place, I realise that I would soon be rescued and will be on the other side of the crenelated border that Yemen has created with the rest of the world.