8:34 AM
She tells a story about
Her family
That once was
Tears falling from her moist eyes
Her family
That no longer is.
We are scattered
Like seeds in sand
My brother killed
My mother killed
My three sisters raped
and then killed.
She covers her bony face
With a faded orange head-cloth
Ashamed
of her tears
or her loss
Because her country is
Fighting a war against its
Own people.
My son was killed,
His hands tied while he
was calling for me.
The Janjiweed set fire first
to his feet
Then our home.
I watched from behind a bush.
I am so ashamed.
Her voice breaks
My heart aches
But never as much as hers must be
Hurting.
Now we have nothing
No home, no cattle
No water or food
Only memories
and nightmares.
We are scattered like seeds in the sand
Can hope grow when
The killings continue
Follow us like a shadow?
Soon our memories will
No longer exist.
And no one will know.
She takes my hand
And gently places
A few seeds of sand
Into my palm.
I weep.
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Comments2
Cheka now? well hello anyway...
Your work is again clearly and cleanly written as was your first piece. And continuing the debate - I don't think your young refugee in Kenya has much choice with respect to 'who they meet, talk with, the places they chose to live, go to, etc.'
Your poem was graphic and extremely painful to read - kudos
Thank you for the comment.
Figuring our the website so therefore the modification of my pen name.
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