A Potato In His Pocket

The grey haired man walked,
a potato tucked safely in his pocket.
The past was his constant companion,
his heart longed for his homeland.
The tapestry of his life woven
by threads of pain and strength.
The grey haired man,
was once a boy that lived across the ocean,
persecuted for his religion.
His mother was murdered,
left bleeding by her infant son.
The infant grew into a brave boy,
he saved a train of children destined to die.
He jumped off the train,
and pleaded with the American soldiers,
to listen to his plight.
His picture was published
in the newspaper.
A hero,
the boy wearing only a tattered men's dress shirt.
The boy with dark bright eyes,
he ran like the wind,
with the will to survive.
His voice rose with courage,
his determination,
brought salvation
to all those children that day.
The grey haired man,
never quite forgot,
the taste of grass he ate from the ground,
escaping to the mountains to stay alive.
He never forgot the hunger,
the potato in his pocket tucked away,
the potato in his pocket a source of comfort.
The past his companion,
all the days of his life.




This is dedicated to my husband's grandfather, Antranik Sheshedian, a survivor of the Armenian genocide. We have a framed photograph of the picture that was published in the newspaper, the day he saved the train of children by urging the American soldiers to listen to him.

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