This poem is not has nothing to do with my life By: Amy Nguyen P.4
I look at my hands and what do I see?
The images of that murderous age
These memories that would still torment me.
I slaughtered all who were my enemy,
With their "wicked" blood still staining my blade
As well as my hands, which I still could see.
As I look in the mirror silently,
I see this wretched scar across my face
With memories that would still torment me.
But then these hands still remind me of thee
My son, which I have brought into this place
Memories of your face I still can see
My life changed, so had my heart, peacefully
But since your death, my dear, my heart has ached
These memories that would still torment me
Tell me why that Death chose your soul to reap,
'Tis not I, this being from which you came
I look at my hands, your blood I can see.
'Twas my karma that made the gods angry
So angry till they made me pay this wage
That's taken you, life for a life, from me
'Twas the price for these countless casualties
The prices that I had prolonged to pay
I look at my hands and death's all I see
My hopes lost, heart shattered, your death I grieve
Too young to die. How can life be this way?
I look at my hands; it's you that I see
These memories of you that torment me.