“Outside the mud baked hut,

The child sat, playing in the dust;

That is when calamity struck,

Hordes hit in blood thirsty lust,

The mother ran to snatch the child,

When a bullet struck her in the side;

As she fell writhing on the ground;

The child paused, looking around;

When a spear severed, slit it through,

And hot red blood gushed and flew,

As we of candle lights and marches,

Watched silently from our porches;

As if nothing we cared or ever knew”


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