Still pressing heavy on the shoulders bold
in anger, bitterness and regret born
She marches on!
Her whole life hanging on a hold
imprisoned in a wooden sieve
She marches on!
Weighed down by a baby at the back
lungs exhaling, sweat oozing up
She marches on!
Weariness disfigured her face
not knowing how far a hand on a third leg will go
when the whole body it holds
She marches on!
While at her side the falling sun rays
a lip opens to close
in a lost speech
in unfound thoughts.
Yet her screams follow her on
her feet painted by the noon dust
to send her hand into her mouth
finding hope in her beating heart
Oh help her march on!
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