Souvenirs for My Daughters

Devadas (angels)

Each day before night leaves
as we’re herded into the fields, we pray
to last,
to endure Angka’s lashes,
in the course of his rage.
When night’s darkness arrives, again we pray
to last,
to be spared
to breathe and to see the sun-
rise again.

Then, countless times, we give in.
Our wretched souls ask to leave,
to be taken away to the world beyond,
where pain ceases to exist.

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