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The Journey

Words by Abdulazez Dukhan

Illustration by Zoe Schodder
Zoe Schodder Illustrator

From war to sore,
Some died, some cried
And we left the rest, some call us guests
some others are racist… No, I am not here to enjoy the sun or the money
It is not economy

It is not my honey moon
I am here because I was grown
To stand up for my right, it is a fight
Government killed us under the sunlight
The world watched, and talked about a red line

Fine, here is my story

I left from my city, it was pretty
But it was destroyed
My games, my room and my friends
It ends.

I remembered it all on the boat, I remembered the way to school, their rules…

It is all done, I am gone.

I lived in tents, I made friends after friends after friends, and then I left,
to here, I am here
In front of you, alive
High five… no.
In time I am here, there are many there
Looking for the light of life,
Their voices are in my head,
It is all me,
the voice of orphan children, the mother who lost her son, the families who (have to) run
It is all me.

The sound of waves, the boat I took, the tent I have lived in for months…
It is all me, it is me.

Illustration by Zoe Schodder
Illustration by Zoe Schodder
Illustration by Zoe Schodder

Abdulazez Dukhan is a Syrian photographer currently based in Brussels.
More of his work can be found at www.azyeux.com
instagram @abdulazez_dukhan

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