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Teto Korha Poem
Behind the mirror, the man is seen
Where on our streets surrounded, Friends
Thousands met cold, untimely death
With screamed echoes of souls unrest
Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly
Children dead in their mothers’ arms
Father, for his lost son searched
Found him only, with parts cut in shreds.
Behind the mirror, was the man there?
Our Young children, to soldiers turned
Educated only in field of war
Guns carried, bigger than they can bear
Faught battles, of no cause but fear
To read or write, they dared not do
But to shoot or kill, well informed they were.
The man behind the mirror, how did he rest?
Our babies, dead while he sound slept
In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept
Still offered nothing, but violence more
Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder
If anyone dared open their mouths to speak
Or, if orders came of his seat to render.
Behind that mirror, my freedom he took
Our homes Burned; our stores looted
Citizens, chased out of a land to love
Forced into exile for years so many
Adapted to a culture so not ours
From scratch, we started to build
Until bit by bit, we rose so high above
Like an eagle, up up and away.
The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame
The color so dark, on our backs stained
Bruises so deep, forever left to heal
Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued
Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched,
And palmed away by cruel, hateful death
With tumbled bodies over bodies
All soiled up into one tiny hole.
Behind that mirror, the man will always be
With blissful look in his red, budging eyes
Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile
His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see
My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound
And the more my hate for him increase
Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down
Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get
Copyright © Teto Korha | Year Posted 2012
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