the killing

The Killing


She walked in front of me, the young black girl
of nineteen; on her way to the market, spring in
her steps, big smile, it was a beautiful morning.
From nowhere he came, the madman, wielding
a machete attacked the girl and cut her head off
as she should be a mere chicken. He was quickly
overcome by bystanders, too late for her though.

I bent down, there was life in her eyes she had
witnessed her own destruction, but slowly her
light faded. till her eyes were mirrors reflecting
the sky. I had been with the girl in a pool of
stillness, know the noise of humanity shouted
my ears; I didn’t look up to the heavens asking
Why? But I will carry her sad eyes with me.