They wrote my story
with the ash of my body.
Those who couldn’t see
could hear my screams.
Those who couldn’t hear
could witness my pain.
Those who couldn’t feel
could sense my helplessness.
Those who couldn’t talk
died from the inside,
as I did.

I was their puppet
and there was my show.
I had an audience
to watch.
There were people who clapped
and others who weren’t satisfied
until they left me on the ground
with my last breaths.

With every drop of my blood,
every drop of my tears,
They embellished me with red,
And made marks upon my body.
As they blew out the candle of my life,
as they undermined my voice
and made a fearful image
to scare you,
they tore my soul.

My death screamed loud
and woke up those
who watched me being beaten,
becoming ugly,
who watched me changing
into ash.

I had a crowd that day
and I have a crowd today.
Today’s crowd
can make no changes.
All these people can do for me now
is come together
and pray.

By Sadia S.