#9th

The river rose
The plastered dam broke,
The cold water ran along,
Rushing the cemented names
Of innocent blood deep down the Dark Valley.

The stale breath of death engulfed the terrain,
And in it sank;
ethics of man ad every moral of the age.
The plaster of Innocent Blood killed in your name,
The tall array of the graveyard of sullen spirits;
Will Cloud your Valley.

May you wake with the final cries of my slain brothers
As your fathers mobbed him and trappled on him.
May you dream of the tears of my sister as she was strucked to the ground,
As your mothers pulled her apart in the middle of the street.
May you live with the whispers
of the hautend alleyways,
The beautiful homes you took,
The Holy Churches you desecrated.

And one day,
On a fine Spring evening in early May,
When you rest to sip your tea,
And when your child asks you,
“What happened here?”
May the guilt of Genocide,
May the guilt of Hatred,
Run cold down your spine
As your lips fail to answer
The lingering thoughts;
“I did that, I allowed that to happen,
We did that, we allowed it all to happen”.

Quoting Funeral Blues by WH.Auden-

“The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.”