Mara
Under the blankets scared
I was, listening to the shooting
awake for days, without closing my eyes.
Under the bed, under my feathers.
With no wings to be displayed,
With many sorrows in my chest,
under the bed I sleep with myself and a destroyed family somewhere in the grave.
Where nobody plays, but war games, and I keep playing to be hidden from the bullets not to reach my hideout to be found.
Wait for me in the morning,.
maybe I can have breakfast.
If I can't be there, perhaps you can search me hidden somewhere far from your dreamy life, where you play war games which in my reality I keep hidden from, under a bed or whatever I can.
Look for Mara one day, a 14 year old girl, a ballet dancer under a blanket, without bullets in my pocket, but a suitcase full of dreams
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