When people were fighting out in the war,
I was in my home keeping my silence.
When lightning stiked and thunders roar,
I stay indoors as if nothing happens,
Thousands and thousands of lives taken,
And here I am still writing this poem.
Innovent lives since then had not risen.
Families mourned as funerals made for them,
We know the painful truth they're not coming back.
Only the sacred ones came back from the contention.
Everyone who came back was carrying a bag.
Which contained their properties from the corruption.
LIttle did I know that my man also went.
I saw him with that bag, I just stood and wept.
