After the Genocide, the fear of death
Was different from the fear of mortality.
Time and space had lost meaning and measure.
Always sleeping with one eye opened.
From dawn to sunset the caravan was prodded ahead.
No hope was left among the exiles;
Any reserves of faith that they might escape
The hell that haunted them had dried up.
Darkness continued to drape their days.
How was this going to end?
Is this what I’m staying alive for?
To be executed tomorrow or the next day, or the next?
How will I be able to endure these cruelties?
Memories flashing by. Images of the day they came.
Still marching on...
Hundreds, thousand of bodies
Dismembered bodies,
Scourged, decapitated bodies
In the ditches beside the road
The smell of burned flesh
Screaming mothers, shouting over and over again;
Where? When? Why?
The green grasfields turned red
Digging graves for our dead
Buried the living instead
They’re just standing there
Watching,
Controlling,
Raping,
Stealing,
Mutilating,
Killing
It’s all the fuckin’ same to them

Thinking back to the day
She was playing with her brothers and sisters
On that green grasfield just nearby.
Dad coming home from a hard days work,
Mother preparing dinner.

“And then I decided I had to die again”