For seven days they feasted on her flesh;
On the eighth, she fled to the military for
Protection; on the twelfth she filed a case
That came to nothing. People would say she
Was lucky not to have been murdered; some
Would say she was unlucky not to have
Been murdered: villagers would recollect
That stigma far into her lonely life.
Did no one hear her scream that awful night?
Her cries for help were like my cries for help
These past twelve years of democratic rule:
I heard her call twelve years ago, while all
Around me thought it was the ululation
Of freedom by our women; listen! how they cry!