When I am burned alive

I don’t usually reblog but this poem is haunting.

Literary Street

A 16-year-old girl was burned alive in Guatemala! A Handful of Humanity left, too, is in jeopardy.
A poem conveying the truth yet incapable to that extent and offering condolences to her, of course.

When I am burned alive,

The furious flames will slowly melt my skin;

It would affront to take my life at once—which I prefer—

But it, too, is afraid of the vigilantes, who are

Enshrouding a girl who is in the holy temple of God and

Asking Him to appear, at least, once.

Even the mob want to see you, God,

Aren’t you aware of the situation?

Or are you afraid of them, too?

They toiled the bells; shred the clothes that draped your body;

Spitted on your statue and laughed at you.

I wanted you to come like you used to do,

Engross all the evils like you did in the scriptures

And cure them…

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