My breath is soft but my heart is heavy
a tender child of another parent
lay still like a rock and as cold as the weather
the river is now red
her face went pale
my heart turned black
murder in the name of my people
did this child deserve to die ?
maybe I am tired
because all I see is my child
dead in my arms
rotting like a fruit
silenced from her usual laughs
and forbidden from smiling again
cradled to her slumber
by a twisted lulaby of my own.