Ribbon and Coin for a Son

I don’t feel comfortable looking at my son

Immortalized by a black, white and red striped ribbon,

His name etched on the gold medal

The price he paid for fighting in a war he did not know.

Memories fade, but not for a mother who lost a son

In Somalia.

They call it honour,

They call him a hero;

It is personal in my heart.

Maybe they have it,

But it’s not the way I understand it –

The army killed my son.

Why do they have a ribbon, and a coin dangling,

For kids they did not raise yet kill?

Why accept the hero’s medal?

The medal is supposed to comfort me,

Say the nation will never forget:

But the nation has forgotten.