I can't sleep for the night, sorrow is on the other side.

the moon was an icy dagger piercing the dirty streets,

where shadows evaded the moonlight, the darkness hid under black sheets,

the town was a deathly deep quiet, not a soul drempt well in the night,

and the girl in her bed lay tossing -

fitfully tossing -

in her bed she was tossing and paling with fright.

 

the sun was a lukewarm finger tickling her beautiful face,

and under her rags she turned her head, and her hair fell soft as lace,

and all in the sudden of a moment of time the world whipped back with a start,

then the girl was awake and panting -

sweating and panting -

and her long slender fingers moved her damp bangs apart.

 

up she sprang from her broken bed, bashed by soldiers last year,

in her small cracked mirror she drew her head nearer and wiped a glistn'ing tear.

her deep brown eyes darted up and down, studying features so young,

and suddenly the mirror was trembling -

her beautiful face stared, trembling -

and her fingers let fall the mirror, as a sob escaped her lungs.

 

her legs, they buckled, the girl collapsed, and to god she piously prayed,

and in her mind appeared her mother, dead since last year's raid.

her fire-blood burned and roared and raced, 'till last she felt her body cool,

and when her churning stomach settled, her thudding heart was calmed -

her blood was cooled and calmed -

she left her house that monday morn, her gentle heart gone cruel.

 

beneath her coat in the morning air her breasts lay pressed by straps,

and from her back emerged a bulge that she hid with her school rucksack.

so not yet knowing where she was going, she steered toward the dying dawn,

her chest a-throb, her emotions gone, with deliberate pace she plodded on -

plodded on - plodded on -

her face blanched weary-white and wan.

 

down busy roads she weaved her way, her brown eyes vibrant bright,

searching for the perfect place, a place she'd find and feel was right.

a quiver sprang up from deep within; she'd soon be purged of each her sins!

and finally, she looked no more: she ceased her search a'front one store -

she wiped her brow a'front one store -

she'd found the place she'd hunted for.

 

a ringing roar ripped through the ears of those around that hour,

the gutters bled and people fled in waves of forceful panicked-power!

the spot where stood that precious girl is now a crater; a black-bricked cave.

her thoughts, her loves, her loathing, gone -

her bright brown eyes left with the dawn -

her land, her people, she meant to save -

for a far-flung cause, her life she gave.

 

Suicide genocide, Murder and war, and of the difference, What are they killing for?

 

Which child will die tonight?

 

What country will mourn?

 

How many of us will sit and think

that we all, in some small way

can make a change?...

 

Done