
He lost his life at the age of four.
Too young to understand how the world works.
Too young to even remember me.
It wasn’t his time to go.
They know, I know.
It hurts. I’m hurt. I’ve been hurt.
I have held memories of you sitting on my lap, laughing.
I have held memories of you crying, of me trying to sing in English.
I have held memories of the times you started crawling.
I was excited. I was very excited.
Two months before November 29, shots were fired.
I saw your mom today, and that’s how I know you’ve left this world.
I’m sorry.
I asked your mom again and again where you were.
I was excited.
And she just looked at me.
I felt selfish.
“Where’s Samuel,” I turn to my mom. “Can you ask where Samuel is?”.
I was too blind to notice how dead you looked outside, I was too foolish to realize that you were suffering.
I am sorry.
“Where’s Samuel” I asked for the fourth time.
You started crying.
I am sorry.
I left because mama told me to.
I remember looking at you at the door while tears crawled out of your eyes, and found their way to your lap.
I saw.
“Samuel died two months ago”, she said.
“You are lying.”
He was only four Mama.
He was only four.
Why would someone shoot at a child?
Two shots were fired that took this child away.
I didn’t know how to cope with this, so I started writing.
I am crying.
I was crying.
I’m still crying.
He was only four.
I haven’t seen him since his first birthday.
I will never see him again,
I will never get to celebrate his birthday.
“He was only four, mama, why would they shoot a four-year-old?”
“He never learned to say my name correctly, I never got to see him walking, mama.”
I wrote.
I cried.
I am crying.
I’ve been crying. I am sorry.
I apologize for being foolish; I am sorry for not knowing any better; I am sorry for not being there.
Shots were fired that took someone’s child away, it stripped me from the role of being an aunt.
I hate you, world.
I hate you for taking someone’s child away. I hate you for being cruel.
Hate you for making me cry while I write this poem in anger.
Hate you for not warning me.
But, I am sorry.
Benedita Mayanda Zalabantu lives in Portland, Maine and is 17 years old. In her free time she enjoys watching documentaries which have led to her interest in pursuing a career in law. Benedita also speaks four different languages (Portuguese, Lingala, French and English).