A Genocide Story- My Mother's Eyes

They dragged my mother away kicking and screaming arms outstretched towards my little sister who lay dying on the ground her lips parched her eyes sunken her wasted arms reaching out “Myreik (Mother), don’t leave me!” My father pulled my mother away the young soldier’s grasping hands the one who had violated her the one who now sneered “Keep moving….she will be dead Before nightfall.” I hurried after them stumbling through my tears afraid of being left behind I turned for one last look There she lay…her eyes closing left behind to join the the dead along the path my sister…. That night I didn’t hear her cry or complain as the soldiers dragged her away she was beautiful my mother with eyes the color of the sea eyes that danced and twinkled like stars on a clear night eyes that smiled eyes that embraced eyes that spoke what words couldn’t say I fell asleep to the sound of my father’s weeping “Wake up,” I heard her say as I fought to keep my dreams alive my eyes fluttered open I closed them to the hungry faces I closed them to the filth on her dress I searched her eyes calm and glassy they looked past me not seeing In them I read no pain no joy no recognition no….life! Tears sprang to my eyes tears for the death of my sister’s body tears for the death of my mother’s soul… My mother’s eyes my mother’s eyes... They haunt me still. Eileen Manassian Though this is a fictitious write, the events depicted did happen during the Armenian Genocide in 1915 by the Ottoman Turks. One million and a half Armenians were marched into the desert in what has come to be known as the Death March. My mother's family were fortunate. They were able to run away in time. They relocated to Lebanon. My mother was a refugee at 14 years of age. She and her two sisters suffered poverty and had to work hard to make a living for the family. Their fate could have been worse. April 24 marks 100 years since that event. Not all countries have recognized the genocide. Unfortunately, America is one of them. If you want to read an account of those days, read The Sandcastle Girls. Read of how woman were tied to stakes as the soldiers rode past on their horses and decapitated them. Read of how the orphaned children were gathered at night and put in caves and burned alive. Read of how the woman marched naked...their wounds festering, their hair matted...almost inhuman. Read of how women committed suicide rather suffer rape while others disfigured themselves to go unnoticed. History cannot deny the genocide. If justice is not served here...it will be....one day. God told Cain..."the blood of your brother Abel is crying out to me." The blood of these martyrs cries out today for recognition.