Our sound

There is this sound people make in my culture
As if they were hit in the stomach with a blunt object
Like the last breath had just escaped your lunges
Your chest retracts as your heart retreats with in your body
wrenching of pain
Oh beautiful organ may Allah spare you
Hands clutch the bosom desperately
twisted and wrinkled with in them the clothes worn like a shield
Brief, quiet, and gut wrenching
This is the sound of my people
Of their pain
Ah, waa Ani badee
Oh, I am lost!