This is a poem by Meuna who is 7 years old on his mother’s birthday: enjoy.
So my leg lunged forward, and you slowly matched that step,
Smiling, clinging onto my hand trembling no more.
I wasn’t going to let you go.
I would succeed.
I had done this before
As I stared out the wooden window wishing I wasn’t sitting here, but thinking the words To paint on this page, I create brand new worldsThat the
Choose rightly to keep your right to choose: thoughts on Choices
Pray for the dead, pray that the living survive. Prioritise humanity, choose humanity.
On se gratte la peau, on nettoie les cils. On boit de l’eau infestée de typhii
Ils se grattent la peau, et ils boivent du Lestac, dehors sous des corps la terre saigne.