The sounds of Christmas carols ring through the stained windows
As I lie on my hard cot
I stare up at the cracked ceiling trying to calm my mind
The never-ending feeling of isolation
The melody of “silent night” is broken by the sudden sound of retching

I can hear distant sobbing
The wailing of children mourning their dead parents
Haunts me in my sleep
The fear of misery, suffering and death
Makes me quiver with horror

I see people in clothed in sheets of white
Carrying a pallet to the fire
They drop the body down to the hungry flames
Wreaths of smoke twisting up
Dancing crimson and amber in the night

And so I will go
No cleansing no burial in my dwelling
No peace for me to rest next to my kin
No father will be there for my children next Christmas
Instead grey ashes scattered by the wind