Wakes up first thing in the morning .. tender as the drops of dew tangling down a budding rose, ever so desperately trying to compete with her peachy cheeks .. a good morning .. and a lovely greeting kiss she gave me .. then a question straight after that ..
'Daddy, when are we going to die?', my little Reema asks ..
The injustice of it all, in the name of some sick, twisted idea of justice, steals her childhood away, that of her siblings and sinks them that little bit deeper, inch by inch, every single day, till there is no more child or being left. All 'in the best interest of the children'
Lost are my words .. forever ..
QED
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