I can show you where the brimstone sun has no remorse,
and where devils on horseback, have burned our homes, have pillaged our farms.
A killing spree, the drum of guns, some tried to flee, but died,... each one.
The screams, I dream! Oh, the cries........the cries.......
I try to mute the sound of them
For..., I was there, I hid in fear, was somehow spared, but now I look for
something, ...something, ...something, here, ...someone to care.
A bit of food, a bit of shade, such bitter taste is in my mouth
A world of hate. To have no shoes,...a walking ghost.....
a blistered soul, I have no hope.... but nothing, nothing left.
My eyes are blurred, and fires burn, a heavy world, shouts out despair.
Where are the flowers that used to bloom, where are voices, that once I knew?
There are no flowers here...just flies, in waist-deep dust, and a hot orange sun,
that coughs up sounds of fear and guns, and swords and words against my ears, I
live in fear with no one here.
I'm just a girl, or at least I was.... for just a while.
I was defiled, when found by one
He spared my life, but did not see, I'd rather die than be this girl, who feels the
shame in being free.
I once had a mother, I once had a father, I once had a brother who made me smile
Where did spirits, lift and go, when the devils on horseback came to kill? Spilling
blood as if for fun? For thrill? For what?
Where were the Gods? Where are the ones who turn their heads?
In desert's dust with blood red crust. They poisoned our wells, burned out our land,
ravished and raped, and relished their brand......,
nomads came, leaving shame, evil and horror came like rain.
Janjaweed, the name, I cannot say... I live with shame, a world, insane
I try to sleep, but I cannot........I can't forget and I am lost, the cost too much,
a swollen tongue and calloused feet, across a land of bleached white bones
Alone, alone,....lost and done...a vanished heart......no one sees me
There are no flowers, there are no trees,
Famine as my lone companion, a pool of mud a home to stay,
Life drains out more every day, my belly swells....my eyes are parched,
and I can't tell
if I'm alive, or if I'm dead, dried up tears are what I shed....
Where are the flowers for my head? I've been scorned,
all I have, and all I see is wind and rain, sorrow and pain
thorns, and dust, and a grave, that waits for me
Devils on Horseback – The Darfur genocide (ongoing) The Janjaweed (translated,
devils on horseback) slaughter and rape the women, men and children of Darfur. As
of today, 480,000 people have been “exterminated” and 2.8 million displaced.
Let's not turn our heads away from this, or from other atrocities being committed
throughout the world.
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
We are the children
of the Four
A wandering race
The leaves, trees
and streams feed us
The earth, water and
winds sustain us
We belong to no man
A race so
You talk about us
with hushed voices
From behind your
Always looking down
The idea of us so
You don't deserve us
Never looking in our
As though the simple
mention of us will
bring you conflict
Our women so
Seeing them leaves
the vision in your
head for days
So you look away
From our mystical,
As we are the
children of the
forests, rivers and
The snow in the
We have always been
We have always
You gave us our name
It was never your
You called us
You look at us and
see aluminium homes
Your curious eyes
scanning our sites
Picking up on the
old battered cars
Camp fires and dirt
Nomads fighting with
You do not see our
As you are not
children of the air
A race so loyal like
thunder and lighting
Inside our homes
lives a love so vast
You can scoop it up
and eat it
It feels like candy
Smells like Apple
We a deadly
Taught from years of
We learnt to only
live with our own
Never having a home
When we burned, fire
was so angry
Our ash turned to
The wind was so
Our ash fluttered
over holy ground
Settled on the
We grew a paradise
Earth was so hurt
you took her
For you paradise
will be forever out
Just before it's in
The ocean washes it
Burning us made
You had killed the
children of the Four
We don't expect to
Our wisdom lays too
The Nazis didn't
just kill and
persecute the Jewish
They killed us too
Put your nose in the
You can still smell
us on the wind
Copyright © little known nothing | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)
Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:
Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.
He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.
After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.
In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.
Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.
He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.
Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.
On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.
Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.
His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.
In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.
On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:
‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.
Tell my people that I love them.
They must continue the fight.’
Mahlangu died for a cause!
The Struggle Continues…
(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn,
as sounds of morning break unearthly still,
arising to the day, some life goes on,
while others have the fear it never will.
Some ashes drift about the morning air,
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.
Each life that was, is slow in pure descent,
and longing for the earth turning below,
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.
Down in the valley echoes from a train,
awhistling, here come the dead again.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014
Suffer not o man she cried desperate for consolation
Compassion twisted and tore at her heart
but the world she knew was silent.
Painful sounds from death filled wars, would wound her more
than jagged poison tipped arrows that pierced much too deeply.
And yet she carried on in quiet song as the world she knew kept silent.
And if the dying weren't enough, the sight of bloated bellies
and distraught mothers and sacked villages laid bare
by the unwilled force of child soldiers, would crush her spirit.
How could the world she knew keep silent?
Thinking that God did not understand her despair
She wept with abeyant tears that could not flow
as the world she knew kept silent.
To live, to die in the soiled spattered flow of time
passing through, passing through
Is the secret so sublime? Cannot she grieve?
Then silence no more was heard.
Instead a curious word within emerged
from her meditation of life's graces
a Hebrew word "Bitachon"
What was not known in agonies
was revealed in her silence.
Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013
A thunder-clap, the storms approach
Each eerie revelation
No hope for man
Nor none for 'roach
A prophetic annihilation
The World awaits, a harrowed end
Mans soul, it hangs
Tentative, it bends
Ensnared, in its false treasures
The evening veil of darkness
Accomplice, to the Moon
Covers up its naked secret
A portent clear
A harbinger of doom
His end, long in the making
A teardrop in the Ocean
He waits there, shaking
Unsaved, in his devotion
Arch-Angels, weep eternal
Both wings and hands are tied
The Wind it cuts
The Rain can never
Wash clear Infernal ties
Faith, leaves you , at the Alter
Tattooed, in your own shame
In Times of War
In Trial by Fire
Death, calls you by your name
A Tribute to Edgar Allen Poe...
Copyright © peter walsh | Year Posted 2015
THE LAST STAND
Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice.
Greed's insatiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations holocaust of the native inhabitants,
Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds.
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final tribal battle war cry,
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013
Ukraine was a beautiful place, I was told.The rolling fields of green, the flat
squares of wheat.Small farms clustered along dirt roads where children played.Now filled with the lingering stench of death.The farms once overflowing with hard work and laughter now sit silent.
I'm speaking to myself so my thoughts might be heard by someone.I'm alone and dying of starvation.Yesterday I turned nine years old, there was no
celebration.Tomorrow when the glorious sun slowly rises and floods the empty
fields with light, I'll be dead.The cold hearted Russian soldiers came with anger and frustration and took everything.My village, once a moving breathing community has been slowly starved to death, without remorse.
This night seems colder than most, my mind keeps floating in and out of purpose.All have died and I'm the last of my village.
Yesterday when the sun was setting I heard scratches and whispers at the front door,asking for food, I had none.Within hours the sound stopped as they died laying upon the cold wooden planks of night.
No one is coming and the pain has stopped.I'm tired and going to quietly drift into a deep sleep, forever. They say I am a pretty girl, but I'll never know
Tomorrow the Russians will sweep through and burn our village.No one will ever know we were ever here.They'll be an emptiness where there was life.
Death is welcomed.These rolling fields will be filled now with the ghosts of
innocence searching for a place lost in the emptiness of time.
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Brave Conquerors Of Weakened Tribes
They could never in any great haste
their false glory dare to forsake.
Why abandon that gleam in their eyes
for truth in those sad tomorrows?
Dwell not in that bitter splendor
A victor with a yellow wreath.
In pride hide being a lying pretender
never giving up what fate bequeath!
Restless spirits from vanquished foes
can not invade that haughty parade.
Brave conquerors of weakened tribes
living out a false, arrogant charade.
History now reveals the dishonor disguised.
And tales of false victories cleverly contrived!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2015
In the past, the main thrust of the Holocaust/Genocide Project's magazine, An End To Intolerance, has been the genocides that occurred in history and outside of the United States. Still, what we mustn't forget is that mass killing of Native Americans occurred in our own country. As a result, bigotry and racial discrimination still exist.
"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue" . . . and made the first contact with the "Indians." For Native Americans, the world after 1492 would never be the same. This date marked the beginning of the long road of persecution and genocide of Native Americans, our indigenous people. Genocide was an important cause of the decline for many tribes.
"By conservative estimates, the population of the United states prior to European contact was greater than 12 million. Four centuries later, the count was reduced by 95% to 237 thousand.
In 1493, when Columbus returned to the Hispaniola, he quickly implemented policies of slavery and mass extermination of the Taino population of the Caribbean. Within three years, five million were dead. Las Casas, the primary historian of the Columbian era, writes of many accounts of the horrors that the Spanish colonists inflicted upon the indigenous population: hanging them en mass, hacking their children into pieces to be used as dog feed, and other horrid cruelties. The works of Las Casas are often omitted from popular American history books and courses because Columbus is considered a hero by many, even today.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
She watched the towers fall to earth that pristine, young fall morn.
She saw the skies so clear and blue and then the clear was gone.
As horror filled her inner soul; her heart and mind were lead.
The towers crumbled one by one . . and everyone was dead.
Harsh sobs came forth from deep inside, but still her face was dry.
More sadness than a tear could bear; her eyes refused to cry.
She prayed to God: then called Him out. She begged Him intervene.
As all the while the horror grew, with each new ghastly scene.
The day wore on becoming night: grey ash and twisted steel.
So much to work through in her mind; how could this all be real?
"You need to cry", she spoke aloud; you need assuage your soul.
You need to sob: make peace with God, if your faith's to remain whole”.
Yet still the tears refused to come, denied her all relief.
It seemed that tears could not begin to lessen untold grief.
Then came a truth from deep inside, meant for her . . and me.
“If you could cry for what you've seen, you'd overflow each sea”.
“If tears would pay for all the pain that man has caused to man;
Salt lakes would one day cover, what was once earth's arid land.
Could tears atone for every lesser creature man's abused,
More water from the eyes would flow, than earth could ever use”.
“Tears surely meant to bathe this sphere, like soft and healing rain;
The air and soil and streams befouled for mankind's worldly gain.
Why earth would be a pale blue orb . . a landless, liquid ball.
Could tears atone for man's misdeeds; no earth would show at all”.
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
Look upon city once known by name,
ruins that I called home, streets swallowed by flame,
in time alive shell not witness less of what should you understand,
reach on to hand of a stranger, scroll remain;
in signs that might be changing welcome,
different of a man.
When dawn awakes and there is no light,
upon dusk of man darkness will be spread by sight,
in time not different change will arise, life we thought you knew,
death would recognize.
Hearts will bound to King without a Crown,
why do mothers shed tears, echo rooted in the ground,
is there reason of a foolish wars, contracts written in blood,
new born babies died breathless, can't even appreciate the Sun,
don't deserve to live, not worth of the land,
existence will be scattered in ashes,
you will be remembered
Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013
a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in England, Finland, and Switzerland
and some currency notes
couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the American dollars
they were what i needed most
as the pogrom was in progress
in my Tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet
Copyright © Henry Victor | Year Posted 2014
Acid in eyes
Raped by suitor
Burned with kerosene
No books for women
No education for women
Woman must wear masks
Women must obey
Women used and abused
Stoning women for a mans crime?
Murder for two hearts loving
A child screams as church bells ring
Barrel bombs fall like laughing monkeys
On children both small and tall
Israel treating the wounded of Arab crimes
I ask you?
Are you a silent one?
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
being in this tin womb, dark and safe,
that's the thing; inside the dark corners
and air-lock doors, it's a floating life
toothpaste and pureed stew float by;
still, here's not to dwell on the minutiae
and other small things
and the silent solar-wind powers on,
while below, the earth, the sea, the clouds,
the blue and green, the tempered purple hues,
and if from the land you peer up here,
from where the earth is dying, you'll see
me sigh, through flocks of hope,
and notice that I'm crying
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
in a world spinning
an unlikely dream,
running to and fro
knowing all is not
what it may seem,
o’er wishful soul’s
a futureless heart’s
afore life’s destined
twisted fearful chill,
poison suicide pill,
a wistful breath’s
free spinning wheel
siring inherent lies
o’er imaginary time,
yet fiery destination
froward final crime.
© Eugene Harvey
Copyright © Eugene Harvey | Year Posted 2013
While the bodies are piling one by one.
Mother is scared, but calm.
Now look at what they've done.
Father is hurt, but they think they won
Mother makes me hold her palm,
While the bodies are piling one by one.
My family is weak and they are done.
Killing people like a time bomb.
Now look at what they've done.
Everyone is done with the "fun"
Now it's time to rise up with mom,
While the bodies are piling one by one.
Germans shooting with machine guns;
America is here to stop their bomb.
Now look at what they've done.
We are trapped, nowhere to run
My mom tells me to stay calm,
While the bodies are piling one by one.
Now look at what they've done.
Copyright © Michael Soto | Year Posted 2015
The coming times can unfold,
far accross to all lands,
the casting shadow has fallen,
with it's far reaching hands,
accross our four cornered world,,
Humanity progressed to progressive sufferage,
that comes with many names,
the ideology won without a shot,
convinced populations into guilted shame,
lost are voices of courage,,
The warring world will arise,
between makers and takers,
parasitic ideology's green eyed mind,
re-writing regulations by progressive thinkers,
big brother's utopian great enterprise,,
Dependent we all become, parasitically,
even forced fed into submission,
by governmental state so enlarged,
numbered you are by institution,
nothing owned, only redistributed cynically,,
Paupers suffer under progressive fortitude,
soulless programs of living propaganda,
your worth, what you produce,
socialized into this living agenda,
living taxed products of servitude,
, and then...
The rise will come independent,
carrying courage and freedom proudly,
with wisdoms weapon in hand,
knowledge in the other soundly,
honor reclaimed by the sentient,,
Independent declarations germinating from seed,
feared by any progressive regime,
warriors in freedom stand tall,
threatened is the progressive dream,
renewing freedoms that will breed,,
The liberty that spawned revolution,
alive from all moral conceptions,
viewed as evil that's progressive,
feared are soulless seeking redemption,
the light of liberty's salvation,,
Beating freedoms of sentient heart,
the salvation of fighting worth,
a force greater than any darkness,
warriors of liberty step forth,
champions of honor that impart,,
, next, the final chapter of...
Ideological war of the worlds,
eye to eye never seen,
the hatred between clearly drawn,
problems with peace to intervene,
the conflict as it unfolds,,
Coming as thieves of night,
armys on both sides comes,
fortifying and building societial walls,
truth and lies propaganda welcomes,
armored suited masses to fight,,
Emerges the lights of honor,
the independent class called defenders,
private elites of character gold,
the shadows behind all pretenders,
opperatives that's far more superior,,
Defenders are warriors of light,
core beliefs that's solely independent,
religiously organized they never follow,
thorns in a crowned tyrant,
independent wills of great might,,
They are why freedom thrives,
true leaders leading into tomorrow,
that govern by liberty's will
that invites everyone to follow,
founding fathers of our lives..
Copyright © S.K. Y. | Year Posted 2013
Mountains of leather,
Summit holocaust landscapes:
Valley of dead soles.
Inspired by the piles of shoes
in the Auschwitz concentration camps
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2012
Anger and pain,
Whole worlds suffer
Yet none may gain.
Strife without end,
Mankind’s in the dust
Death comes as a friend.
Copyright © May Fenn | Year Posted 2015
Cast in stone and written in blood
Are the ideals of a lost nation?
Paving the returned ashes of the ancients
Their patience wore thin by the actions of the passionless
Armed in tools for a journey with no set direction
But their steps forward
Matter to no particular purpose but a means to no end
Instead to destruction
Is their surrounds with earth shattering sound to deaf ears
In the hope
That the blind see and fear the renowned vision of tears
And overcome by what comes over
With a supernova of banished spirits carving out time
In hope to expose
The sickened seconds and momentary minutes into hours
Those who have powers
Will note the swinging vote they wield
Those who are in this field
Have only the word as a shield
Blood spilled and dead, limp, bodies
Will be served on the far vision
Will be the cutlery of the day's dishing
From the table view, only red is seen
Because all that within is left on the scene
Those who were framed in this picture
Can only refer to the Revelations of scripture
Those who were in erratic panic
Had to mirror the ignorance that of "Titanic"
How can men put their belief in false security?
As survivors of today were fooled by the hope of tomorrow
Let’s not borrow the bravado of a lost society
Because Christianity is the true model we should follow.
Copyright © siza sibiya | Year Posted 2013
Hordes of screams sounded out all around and masses of slashed bloody villagers staggered into our village. Grownups started running to finding stuff to clean them They kept saying “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” and talking about running away so they could live.
They said that hundreds of men had been hacked to death and they were the lucky ones. There was rape…and death…and starvation…and disappearing thousands, not just in their village, but in other villages in Dafur, too.
Since Uncle Sofarlo and grandma hadn’t arrived, yet, Mom became histeric. Then, someone said a man with an old woman was still in the desert and they weren’t hurt. Mama raising her eyes upward and thanked God.
I didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but a few years later, I learned first hand. One dreadful day, the Arab militia rode into my village. The first thing they did was ride over to the well and start cutting off people’s arms and pushing them to the ground. They laughed as they drew water for themselves and their camels. Then, they cut off my father’s head and started grabbing my playmates and their mothers.
Terrified, I slunk back into our hut. My parents had dug a hole in the floor beneath each bed shortly after my grandmother and the rest of the survivors had come to live with us. They told me that if those bad men came to our village that I must hide in the hole and not make one sound. So, that is what I did.
Sometimes, I would lift the cover and peek out. I saw one of those men slash Uncle Sorarlo’s head with a hatched and throw it in the well. One of them grabbed my mother by the hair and slung her into a nearby hut. Then he dismounted and went in. Her horrible screams still flash through my memory. I saw and heard appalling things happening to other women, young girls, and even the little boys.
I could hear loud voices and laughter as the Janjaweed savages watched the survivors scamper like rabbits into the desert. Next, they set the huts on fire and rode after them. Then, there was silence.
I stayed shivering in that dark hole what seemed like forever. Then, my older brother came over to help me out. He had hidden beneath his bed, too. We never saw our grandmother or cousins again, but we were alive!
Survival was the next challenge. My big brother was smart and had faith in God. It is because of his strength and bravery that we are both alive today to tell the story.
Please help the people of Dafur.
I chose Dafarian Genocide.
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan
PART 1 SETS THE STAGE. PLEASE READ
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014
A relief from stress, such a sweet paradise
A deafening crash then a blinding light
Poor boy, your fate is sealed like loaded dice.
Due to beastly luck this child I must smite.
Perhaps he'll go where I have yet to behold;
This kind, bereaved, extinguished progeny.
Ill-fated boy, please reach those gates of gold.
Oh, child! Why walk the streets of Germany?
Fully at rest for all eternity,
All I can do is hope forever that
Maybe the last thing you saw wasn't me.
My last image? Your torn figure laid flat.
Copyright © LN DY | Year Posted 2013
A wonderful young girl, Anne Otto Frank,
Was forced to live confined, like fish in a tank.
She could have been saved, if about her people knew....
But nobody cared, she was just a normal Jew.
Born on June 12, 1929, Anne Frank was a German-Jewish girl who was forced to go into hiding during the Holocaust. She and her family, along with four others, spent over two years during World War II hiding in an annex of rooms above her father’s office in Amsterdam.
Since it was first published in 1947, Anne Frank’s diary has become one of the most powerful memoirs of the Holocaust. Its message of courage and hope has reached millions.
Copyright © Sneha RV The Literature Lover | Year Posted 2015
Children Of The Holocaust
There are butterflies in heaven;
With numbers tattooed on their arm.
Dancing in the gentle breeze;
Free from Hitler’s death farm.
Little Jewish children;
Who knew their lives would end;
Carved butterflies in Auschwitz;
Predicting their spirits would transcend.
What could butterflies have ever done;
To deserve such a cruel fate?
For Nazi soldiers to kill them;
Out of prejudice and hate.
Such suffering for any child;
Oh how my heart cries!
For the smallest victims of holocaust;
And beautiful butterflies.
Darlene Doll Smith
Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015
SILENCE CONDONES DU & DRONES
Serves up fast kill -
Who pays the bill?
Spent uran'yum? -
Small watts; big ill.
To store, or $ell?
Makes heavy shell.
Blasts through walls well.
Deployed now, $well!
The order's passed:
Deep fried dark ass.
The searing flash,
Such menu class:
Some sauce? Must ask.
Breathe toxic gas.
Eat here? To go?
Death swift, then slow.
Too late to know
the drift; winds blow
a deadly flow,
through lungs, where go
the silent blows
to genes, thus sown
such seeds of woe.
War profits grow,
Health defects show.
Yet who will know
how was bestowed
this plague of glow?
With press in tow;
Truth's shaft - sans bow.
Sick Vets soon go
Six feet below -
More graves to mow.
Their health care dough
Drops to ZERO!
Life's value: Low.
We watch the show;
Caught in the flow -
To war we go,
Too few say: NO!
Safe status quo
Lets madness grow.
This shadow foe
Strikes deep its blow.
We've sunk so low.
We make no row.
No threat we pose
To leaders, those
Who send the drones
that bomb the homes
In target zones.
Crushed fam'lies moan.
While killer clones
Just count scorched bones.
Copyright © Richard Ledford | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Just watching my TV
New York City Centre,Jet Crash.
News Call,Broadcast stall.
Drop the headlines!!
This is the new line
Look up on the Skyline
Right on the building top.
On another line
Pentagon now a exagon
Another plane drop.
Whats that?whats that?
Beam in on the spot.
Another streak across the sky
Sliiced another tower
Whats going on?Whats going on?
Another crash,big explosion
Switch broadcast over to Washington
Whats your impression?
Whats your emotion.
"Whats your reaction"?
Can't believe my eyes J
Just as it began,I realize
This is an atrocity
Right here,in the heart of the city.
Terrorist Attack!!Terrorist Attack!!
Then the burning Walls a falling
Like crashing dominoes
Right to the ground.
Armagadeon has arrived,without warning!!
CIA, FBI,Home Security Then the Guv
Blaming intelligence,asking why.
Collate and evaluate
Then the appropriate reply.
Calling the president for a comment.
"What do you think of unfolding events"?
"WE will find the perpetrators one by one
Whether he is hiding in Iraq,Iran, or Pakistan.
We will call up the troops,assembly the galleon,
Then bomb them ,blast them Clean up their land,
Bring in new administrations,
Thats the plan
Fireman, Policemen,all on the scene
"This is total disaster,the worst we ever seen.
Engines,sirens,surgeons and volunteers
Combining efforts in a stream.
Such a nightmare, awful dream
But in the present,
the on going theme
Copyright © Reggae Magnet | Year Posted 2012
"Nowhere to Run"
By Linda Hays-Gibbs
They run to us for help
They are out of their depth
Lost jobs, lost homes, lost safety and no food to eat
Nowhere to hide, all is nasty and bloody feet
From miles of walking to you
Now, Don't know What to do
Friends are enemies Unkind faces are all he sees
Broken all ties
cause of all the lies
Only thing left to lose
Are your lives
Protect your babies your old and infirm
Oh God, we've nowhere to turn
Is there anywhere a Christian haven
Some place of peace would be heaven
Who started it all
We just don't care
When it started to fall
We did all we could dare
Now we must
Get away from here
But where to go
Tell me is there no
Compassion or kindness left to find
Or has it all been left behind
Pope says that love is the answer
I need the question
Just please be my brother
I will be your best one
If you save my children
I will be your closest kindred son
Copyright © Linda Hays-Gibbs | Year Posted 2015
My head hurts, my chest pounds
The men with guns all around
They frighten me, standing tall
I watch them, as they line us on a wall
One by one my heart clenches
As I see my people fall
And I know that I am next
Now the people watch, and their hearts clench
As I fall.
Copyright © Karissa Kelley | Year Posted 2016
Another example of Western hypocrisy,
Is Bahrain where they claim "Democracy",
A self-designed "Democracy" of dictatorship,
Which actually started from a pirate-ship,
In history you will find that some pirates,
Who were the robbery and theft laureates,
Through cheating, fraud and deception,
Killings, aggression and corruption,
They came into power to abuse everyone,
Before was with sword and now is with the gun,
They thought that their kingdom will last,
Because of their savagery, which is vast,
Did not imagine that they would be faced,
With people's protests and be disgraced,
And that the whole world will come to know,
About the truth of Bahraini Kingdom's show,
This show is about the killings and rapes,
Bodies with signs of torture and scrapes,
Children, men or women have no difference,
In receiving this torture for-instance,
They raid the houses with troops anytime,
And become altogether partners in crime,
The news are filled with photos of tortures,
But Western governments are just the watchers
They have no movement or any gestures,
Perhaps they're waiting to eat like "Vultures",
West have been playing "Divide and Rule",
Thats how they fight with this tool,
But they couldn't start a Shia-Sunni fight,
So they created "Takfiris" or "Salafis", despite,
Now they just sit back and enjoy the show,
Because they sowed this decades ago,
O' Muslims! We must wakeup and realize,
Or we will, from earth, vanish, otherwise,
O' People of Bahrain we are with you by heart,
Every hurdle has a comfort in a part,
Even though it is Eid, tears are dropping,
As if the humanity is itself plopping.
Eid is a word for Muslims happy celebrations specially after Ramadhan. The Bahraini people are facing aggression and brutality of Bahrain's government forces since many decades.
From the book "Take Your freedom" 2013
Available at www.amazon.com
Copyright © Syed Imon Rizvi | Year Posted 2013