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On November 13 I visited the Canadian War museum. The following is a poem based on the machete from the Rwandan genocide that was on display.
Hack, rip, shred.
Hear the cries of the dead.
Tear, toss, throw.
The cries of a people grow.
Beat, twist, turn.
The fires of hate burn.
We knew the facts all along
We know what is right
We know what is wrong
So why did our troops take flight?
Never again we repeat,
While people die in the street.
Again, again they cry.
As they watch their brothers die.
Uganda, the Sudan, DRC.
Souls plucked from the life tree.
Wail, cry, plead.
Is re-education really all they need?
Death, darkness, screams.
Nightmares are their dreams.
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Nikki
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Comments
Beautiful poem ! Yassir El Ouarzadi | Dec 13th, 2008
Wow, it rhymes very well !
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