I hugged my young child closely.
Tears dried the dirt
darkening the corners of my eyes.
She quietly, starkly pierced the dagger
into her stomach, deep, deeper,
muttering small screams
as blood spread and blossomed
in my palms, body and face.
I pressed my lips
against her shadow of death.
The rogue soldiers shouted and cursed.
One of them plunged his rusty bayonet
into my thigh and slashed the side of my body.
I shouted in pain before I lost consciousness.
I crouched over my quiet child.
She refused to be raped.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem