The long, endless lines waiting for trains taking you—perhaps to safety.
Is there safety?
Déjà vu Timewarp.
Another place. Another century. I am holding tightly to my father’s hand. I am also clutching my favorite stuffed animal. My father, in addition to holding tightly to me, is holding in his other hand a suitcase, packed with a change of clothing and other basics.
Mama holds my older sister’s hand. Her handbag clutched tightly holds documents attesting to who we are and where we hope to go.
Safety away from wailing sirens. Tanks on the march. Soldiers on the march.
Why are we there?
When will we get there?
Will we get there safely?
Where will we live when we get there?
What will we do there?
Will I be able to learn a new language?
Déjà vu. Time Warp
Decades after the horrors of the ’40s. Interminably long lines of tearful, fearful parents and children
clutching favorite stuffed toys, small suitcases, backpacks filled with the most necessary of belongings.
Minds filled with memories close to their hearts and souls.
Lines of refugees waiting for water, food, waiting, waiting, and waiting…
Crowded trains taking human cargo to unknown places,
scared of exploding images, decimation,
Terrifying. Scarifying. Too horrendous to bear but is there a choice?
How do you measure time and space?
Does time or place matter?
Why is this happening again, and again, and again?
What does safety mean?
How does one obtain it?
How long is safe?