Time strikes peace o’clock at midnight.
My room lies dark, yet outside is bright.
Snow is falling, Pikes Peak stands bold.
Tonight I wonder are even snowflakes cold?
Will they shiver as my body shakes?
Suddenly, I feel sorry for the snowflakes.
Or perhaps they’re like little refugee girls.
Dreaming to fly with birds, smiling at squirrels.
Just like the girl who pens this poem,
Who calls the unfamiliar home.
Cold winds carry her far away.
She shakes, she falls, but won’t go astray.
Her other name could be “snowflake”
Tired, yet never taking a break.
She escaped a place where lights were banned.
Now she only longs to live in this land.
It doesn’t matter if someday she is melt;
A mirror always reflects what she felt.
Don’t ask why each day is thanksgiving
Life’s not just breathing, but truly living.
She loves each stranger she happens to meet;
A welcome is all she needs on this street.
This land is what she loves and holds dear.
Like every snowflake, she just wants to be here.
She will add to the brightness,
Just give her a chance, your highness
She loves this life she’s entering into
So Marzia, don’t worry what the snowflake will do.
Sometimes life is just about finding somewhere
Where you have a meaning let go of the care.
Day or night, whether cold or hot,
Let it be, let her live, let’s give it a shot.
Author’s Note
I wrote “Snowflake” for the little refugee girl who escaped the Taliban in Afghanistan, searching for a life where she could be free. Like a snowflake carried far from where it began, she arrived in an unfamiliar land, frightened but full of hope. Each verse holds a part of her journey: the cold of leaving, the courage to begin again, the kindness of strangers, and the gratitude of finally being able to dream. She is not asking simply to survive. She wants to live, to belong, and to bring a little brightness to the country she now calls home. And perhaps, that little refugee girl could be me.
