Mother said it was supposed to be the place
Where he could rest until the kingdom came.
Mother said they should not grimace.
What kind of people had they become?
They flaunted their tyranny
As metal teeth were against the wooden cross,
Cutting down the symbol of victory,
The rest watched as eyes were blanketed with gloss.
His beloved wife could not do anything—
She was weeping with her wet, sorrowful eyes in silence.
Inside her was a soul prone to dying,
Yet she ought to embody acceptance.
“Mother, will we be alright?”
I asked my mother while thinking about the future.
Looking down at my small figure, her eyes not so bright,
“We will be alright,” she murmured, sounding unsure.
Standing in front of the mirror
I saw my mother’s reflection
Wearing an expression of horror,
Sitting on the chair without motion.
Her shirt, as gloomy as the night.
Her eyes, as empty as the void.
Her fingers, trying to conceal fright.
Her mind, thinking what we could not avoid.
Mother once told me it was not our fault,
That it was no one’s fault.
I started to change my mind, however,
As fear started taking over.
(inspired by: https://www.bbc.com/indonesia/indonesia-46604707)
Author: Catharine Juliana/204214051
Editor: Sitti Aminah Intan Utami, Vonna Meisya Saputra (QC)
Illustrator: Betsy Mariana Agoha
As the season changes, and the moments flow
Clumsy, clumsy me
