Reading the account of women being tortured in the melee of the Somalian famine, chaos, and war, I was moved too strongly to not vent my anger and sadness at their desperate situation. This is what I write for them
I am strong
Even when a random snapshot
Flashes a memory flood
I am strong
Even when the throat lumps up
At the thought of a wrong done
I am strong
Even when I want to cry out loud
But a silent voice escapes
Only the strong can survive
The nightmare of a nightmare
I am strong because
I do it even in the day.
