If they could see your soul

Her name is Aunica,
To some you are just another face
In an ordinary place
Another individual, of habit, manner, and style
An elderly stout woman whose brown face
Bares the stamp of her ethnicticity

Amongst the hustle of others in a small café
She is the quiet old lady whom labors away
In a back room filled by the monotony of everyday
Routines, her hands are coarse yet strapping,
Unto an average customer, she saunters about
Replacing silverware and plates
But goes virtually unnoticed by most

Except for one, who sees beyond
Weary eyes and a worn black apron
For if they could see your soul,
There would be a cloud of sorrow
And an ever present shadow of despair

When cities in your homeland Serbia
Violently collapsed due to prolonged warfare
And conflicts, your heart plummeted to the bottom
Of your being along with it,
A city now converted into mounds of ash
And ascending clouds of smoke

Memories of a life, you once had
Are now swept away aimlessly
By a ruthless and non sympathetic wind
Like those who executed their tyranny
Upon the remnants of your foundation

Through compassion and understanding
I have acquired eyes that see
You have opened up your home to me
I have eaten in your presence
And extended unto you an ear
For many stories this woman
Has shared, these tales I will hold
For her, life has been cold
So now it is known

If they could see your soul,
The fierce light of your courage
Would be ever so blinding
Your determination and inner strength
Are akin to a lions roar
And an aura whose mere presence
Casts a vibration that is stifling

To the casual eye you are just
That simple woman whom carries
A tray of plates and smiles
Amid the conversations and
Cigarette smoke, but,
If only they could see your soul