Rue of a woman, half-widowed.
The ordeal of a girl yearning to see her father.
The sigh from the broken soul of a Mother,
And, the mourning of a friend.
You aren’t going to escape, when you
Incur into this conflict zone.
Where blood is flowing ubiquitously.
Where skies gloom with a spark of earth underneath,
Asseverating that we cry with you, bleed with you.
Your grief is not concealed to us, thus we espouse Black attire.
My life here is fallacious, am scared if I survive through.
I See death everywhere, the blood is no more scary.
My ears are prone