we embark on our daybreak journey through the mountains
in search for firewood.
i can hear my mother telling me to,
"it's getting cold now" she would say.
i'm accompanied by nine other poor, young boys,
all complaining about our sisters
and school days at the orphanage.
we're tired.
we're rather be falling asleep under passing trees.
over the hills,
black and flying,
we're confronted by helicopters.
we see a bright green flash
and rockets are fired.
branches and shrapnel,
and only my one friend survives.
what will my twelve sisters do?
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