The moon leaks through the tree-blinds as
Your body waits to be claimed,
Laid among the dead narra trees, in the night,
Solemn cries are heard; your flesh becomes one
with the earth, as the wet soil shaped like cradles covers you.

In the trembling rows of the village, behind locked doors.
A mother is holding her stomach, waiting for the release.
In the womb, you sense life beating.
They seem so far away.