• Watching from the window- a young child weeps.
    Her brother is missing her mother cannot speak.
    Lines mark where a body was dragged- ending with her mother- clothed blood soaked rags.
    No one believes in the prostitute’s daughter.
    No one believes in a crying confused child.
    Counting the tears falling down, a river is yet to be formed upon her face.
    “Please water the plants, for they too are living.”
    Is her only hope to remain living?
    The school bell rings- she puts on a mask- just to hide what she has behind the closed door in her life; but what can she say- she is only five.
    A month from the start- bright lights are flashing- frightened is the child, the money remaining from her mother is hidden- fear climbs through and escapes through tears.
    A voice is yelling- yelling her name.
    Who owns this voice?
    A woman’s voice comes- a woman’s face appears followed by men- some are familiar- some look the same.
    She is taken from her refuge in the corner, no tears fall as people fall upon what was her mother.
    But what can she say?
    No one believed; she was only five, and now she is a broken child.
    Put into a new home with a family anew- four men are watching.
    What is she going to do?
    “Welcome.” one says, “Welcome to life beyond the grave.”
    With that the young girl smiles.
    Never again found crying- not again in this life.