A little girl holds her mother’s hand,
As they walk through the city,
With hours passing by like the cars in the street,
Mother and daughter make their way through
The afternoon bustle
Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters,
All living.

The little girl sees everything around her,
Many things she doesn’t understand
Like why that man is screaming at his beloved,
Or why that woman covers her beautiful hair
While she is outside buying groceries.
She wonders if she, too will live like that.
But the crowd screams like tortured cattle
As a tall thing in black,
Rips open its jacket, and screams those words.
It’s too late to run,
Was this her fate?

The little girl wakes up, looking at a half sky,
Now partially blind.
Smoke fumes curl like an angry cat’s tail,
She can hear screams of, “Help! Help me!”
Ringing ears, like a nonstop telephone.
But at least she can hear.
The man that was screaming at his wife,
Now holds her, dead, screaming to trade his life.
The woman buying groceries
Is most likely dead,
The once tall building is now rubble,
Dust rests around the crumbled store.

The little girl sits in a camp with strangers,
Her home behind her, and a lamp lighting a new path.
Her mother is in a body bag,
Among many others back in that street.
The shadows whisper.