A thousand things I want to say to you,
But you’re not here.

I long to see your face,
But you’re not here.
My tears have dried,
Yet the wounds remain unhealed.
As the weight presses against my chest,
The pain feels endless.

We live for a few days,
And one day we die,
But what of the days in between?
Hundreds of memories,
Like shadows they chase me—
What am I to do?

My mother bore me,
I bore you,
Yet I suffer alone.
Where do I seek solace?
I break down,
Yearning to see and embrace you—
But where do I go?

Clench my hand, just once,
Return to me.
Distraught, I stand here,
Grant me a boon.

Anger and betrayal—why?
Deceit and violence—why?
Blood and war—why?
Six feet of soil—is all yours.