She sits on the floor
near the stool,
Her arm rest on the surface,
Soil covering her face.
She has been coughing
badly for a few days.
Her legs are crossed,
Hair scattered,
Eyes brown,
Slippers torn.
A tear rolls from my eyes
when I see her for the first time,
Because I know she fights
every day she lives,
the situation she is in,
of rubble and drones,
Smoke in the air and on her own
forced to grow and
she gives and gives,
Her all.
I get asked whether
I think about them,
I don't know, would you?
Do I hurt when someone cries?
Do I ache when they die?
Ask, ask
Just hear my heart.