"Your father is a martyr", announces a throaty voice
I stand still, numb and bewildered.
My father was just my father
Whose shoulders were my pillows, whose heart my abode
My mom is strong, or maybe acts strong
"You can't cry, your husband's a martyr", they announce
I see a storm kindling in her eyes
A storm enough to blow us rib by rib
I inhale despair, choking my lungs
I try to speak, I try to sob
Everything in me has died
"She is just a little child", I hear the world muse
I I I, I stammer, the child of terror.
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