I still feel it.
I still feel it.
I still feel it.
The sadness, the anger, the loss,
Yet, I'm forever grateful for the years we had.
Hit and run on a New York street, committed by a paranoid, tunnel-visioned person,
Intent on instant destruction, just for the colour of your skin, for being proud of your own identity.
9/11 still rocks me, were it not for this, you'd still be with us.
I am sick with rage and disgust, even today.
My only consolation being you didn't suffer when you passed away.
Yes, I still feel it.
Cheated out of many more happy years together, I long for the day, if any, when your assailant gets real justice.
You did no harm, yet you still paid a price.
I still wake at night with chills and sweats at the thought of you not being there.
I remember visiting your family two months later. I couldn't find the words to express my sorrow and my deepest sympathy.
I still can't find them.
Yes, I still feel it.
The injustice, the pain, the anguish of knowing you were killed for no valid reason at all.
What right did they have? What right would anyone have?
You were never in search in trouble.
Unashamedly and relentlessly, it still found you.
I never even got to say goodbye.
Yes, I still feel it.
(c)2011, NZ