The television screen is covered in dirty fingerprints and dust.
Beyond these imperfections, a video is playing
A rhythmic line of gunshots fill the room.
A mother’s outstretched arms
long for the child that once warmed them.
The swelled eyes of a grown man release a tear that splashes
amongst a row of bodies bruised and bent,
in a murky river.
A woman in a long, green dress, orange dust clinging to her perspiration,
begs us for help moments before her body joins with the Rwandan dirt
and a rising death toll.
Two Humans under separate titles
spit in the faces of one another
while their people perished
right before our eyes.
No one would stop them
No matter how much bloodied clothing was abandoned in the path.
and,
someone turned off the television
No comments:
Post a Comment