Fatigue dripped from their hooves
Short, exhausted breaths puffed out from their nostrils
But their harsh riders spurred them on
And the coachers gave them nothing but lashes of long, thin whips
To get the best out of them
Before they would collapse and fall into a dreamless sleep
At the very beginning, when it started all fresh
They carried their feet and tail high like the fiery, desert-born Arabians full of pride
Some courageous ones fought against the spurs, whips and those who called themselves their masters
And tried to explain what it was like to be in their place
But all they got in return were sharp bits of metal digging into their sides, lashes of thin sticks and loud, frustrated ‘Gee-haw’s
Yet no answer
Day by day, their bearing reins were shortened
Their once proud faces lost light and lowered
Their limbs moved low and motionlessly like those of an aged mare
But they had not lost hope, they hadn’t given in, not just yet
There ‘s always tomorrow, they believed
And that’s why they managed to cross the mighty plains in such fatal conditions
We can’t give up here, their eyes said
They struggled to live on with all their might
And they managed, not because they were forced to by their riders
But because they wanted to
It’s not about whether you get knocked down,
It’s about whether you get up again
Jiyeah is 13 years old and studies at
the Lycée Français in Pondicherry
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