Somewhere tonight, a mother is struggling to sleep.
Somewhere, a father is pretending to be strong for the rest of the family.
Somewhere, a child is crying quietly and hoping they’re not forgotten.
School sandals dragging across assembly grounds.
Noise. Food. Drinks. March Past rehearsals. Bad speeches under hot canopies.
Not silence.
Not missing posters.
Not mothers unable to sleep.
Not in classrooms.
Not at home.
Not with cartoons playing in the background or rice on the fire.
But somewhere afraid. Somewhere waiting. Somewhere praying somebody comes for them.
Children’s Day is supposed to sound like laughter.