In a fictitious, yet mirroring world, it is imagined that a woman reflecting on her childhood, in poetry, says:
HERO: True Man
Made my way,
running,
clutching doll.
Happy.
Noise of destruction.
Didn't deter me.
Going to see father.
Missed him.
Dearly.
He, there.
My heart lit up.
Crouched behind wreckage
of a car,
holding machine gun.
Aiming.
Firing.
Ducking.
Aiming and firing.
Proud of father.
Hero.
True man.
Caught sight of me,
looked straight at me
in shock.
Why shocked?
Why wasn't happy
to see beloved daughter?
Still hear words,
see expression on face,
he:
"Shelter now!
Not, be here!
Not safe!
Get away from me!"
"But Daddy
I love you!"
Then something
not known, would ever see;
tears running,
down
father's face.
[Jaytsaana Zanilvaarianna]