Everyday I catch your smile;
it’s infectious.
I can’t help but smile when you walk down the corridor
wearing that smile.

Or when you sit in class
trying your best to understand
what I've just said.

But once you’ve walked past
or left my class
I can’t help but cry.

For I know that your smile masks fear.
I know that your smile conceals grief.
Fear that the things you saw before you left
will be visited on your mother, who couldn't leave.
Grief; for the father killed in front of your eyes.

Though you try your best to hide it,
your eyes reveal that you know more of this world than I do.
And yet I am supposed to teach you.