Death, You Are Wicked

Death, You Are Wicked

So sad—may their souls rest in peace.

A cruel road, a silent crash,

and suddenly our children were taken.

Look at their ages—four, five, six—

names barely learned by the wind,

dreams still wrapped in morning light.

Death, why did you choose them?

Why steal laughter so new,

feet still learning the rhythm of earth?

Their futures were bright lanterns,

held high toward tomorrow,

yet you dimmed them without mercy.

They were ready for 2026—

new uniforms pressed with hope,

small hands buttoning courage,

eyes shining for first days and fresh books.

But you did not care.

Tell me, Death—why?

The graveyards are already full.

Can’t you ever be enough?

Death, you are wicked.

You arrive unashamed,

leave silence where songs should be,

and call it fate.

My tears fall because I am a parent too.

I feel the ache that has no words,

the hollow cry that shakes the night.

Only the infertile man and the barren woman

may not know this wound—

their hearts spared a pain

they never had the chance to hold.

May these little souls rest in peace and harmony,

cradled beyond harm,

where roads do not betray,

where time is gentle,

and uniforms turn into wings.

Sleep softly, little ones—

the world will remember your light.