I was reading when the tribal war started.
I read through the screams of pain.
I heard the noises of machetes being sharpened on the bloody tarmac.
But still i read harder.
Even though my eyes stung from the smoke of the burning houses, i still studied.
Burying myself into my book.
Even though my heart clenched from the cry of the widows through the night, I couldn’t lift my face from the book.
Even though the pages became wet from my tears when my soul couldn’t stand the cry of the hungry orphans.
I still read.
Because i knew once i finished reading i will fight back.
But my war would not be one of weapons but one of words.
My fight would not make Widows and orphans, but instead it would call for justice.
My war would be one of peace. Because my wise word will unite tribes, and crash down tribal leaders.
So I’ll study hard. And read through the war.
