Mama, Mama
Why am I dressed in black,
Am I dead?
No, son, no
Grandpa’s dead.
He was fighting the Russians
But they got him instead.
He was a tall, strong man
He never let us down.
So let’s go and put him
in the cold, cold ground.
Mama, Mama
Why am I dressed in black,
Am I dead?
No, child, no
Uncle is dead.
He was fighting Indians
But they got him instead.
He was a good, strong man
He never let us down.
So now, let’s go and put him
in the cold, cold ground.
Mommy, Mommy
Why am I dressed in black,
Am I dead?
No, sweet, no
Daddy’s dead.
He was fighting the terrorists
But they got him instead.
He was a brave, strong man
He never let us down.
So let’s go put him
in the cold, cold ground.
Mother, Mother
Why am I dressed in black,
Am I dead?
No, dear, no
Brother is dead.
He was fighting insurgents
But they got him instead.
He was a kind, young man,
He never let us down.
So let’s go and put him
in the cold, cold ground.
Mother, Mother
Why am I dressed in black
Am I dead?
No, son, no.
Not yet.
—Rae
Rae is currently moored in the restless waters of Islamabad. Although her hailing port is Pakistan her heart follows the shifting winds, meaning that she is never anchored anywhere for too long. Feeling that a sailor’s life must encompass both, Rae learns science by day and dedicates her nights to the arts.
