Time stood motionless, aware
of the wrong that had transpired.
As she crossed the city square,
nothing was as it was prior.
No more torches in the air,
no black helmets, screeching tires,
just the cool breeze in her hair,
and the sunset’s dying fire.
Prayers always end in silence.
In this silence - consolation
that the act of senseless violence
is so brief in its duration.
Just the flutter of her eyelids
and above her – constellations
opened up like vibrant violets
at the moment of creation.