A Homage to the Tribal Women of Lamka

I know you all prayed deep down from the far recess of your soul, reaching into unknown depths of faith hoping bullets won't catch tender flesh and bones. Your bodies are not of muscles yet all of your resolve was bulletproof and intentional.

You came running from the shelter of your homes and formed a human barrier to stop war-machines bulldozing their way in while the trained soldiers assaulted our senses with their guns flashing and booming in front of our eyes.

But unfortunately for them and for us, we've gotten accostumed to these sounds of death.

Now wasn't a time for grace or hesitation, but for strength and sacrifice. Smoke grenades bitterly burned eyes while the foul smell of fiercely burning tires swirl around nostrils and burning flames illuminated the long murderous deep night.

And as the people of thousands surrounded the army men who've come to extract their few while our thousands of kith and kin remained stranded as hostages in the capital, it almost seemed as though courage was handed out along with the sound of each cracking bullet.

Many caught these bullets with their defiance to the 'shoot at sight' order which the government was "pleased to announce" until alas, one bullet pierced tender chest and down she fell, a martyr born in a land that overnight called her an illegal immigrant who is to be wiped off.

And as if there is no abandonment of each other even in death, another fell alongside her.

To the girl I know with nimble hands, a Bible clutched to your chest as your only protection was your faith while death flew about, this was no time for grace and beauty being a woman, but in that you all showed the courage of being what it is to truly be women and what must be done to try to balance the scales in a world where evil men with murderous ambition intend to destroy this balance.