A Night of '89

A Night of '89 Footsteps at midnight the knock no one dared answer. Dogs howled in silence. Charred Bodies on the road, eyes still open to the sky. The crows never ask. Posters on the wall by morning, the faces fade. Smoke curls from tire pyres . Mother lights a lamp. Her son's shoes still by the door. She dares not whisper. Gunfire in the dusk, then a scream the wind carries who will name the dead? Red water flows past the paddy field in full bloom. No harvest this year. Schoolbag on the step— its owner taken at dawn. Chalk dust on the floor. Whispers fill the lane. Even silence has been killed. Eyes blink like shutters. A list with red marks— young names, crossed out by the state. The clerk still records. Cicadas still sing though men hang from tamarind trees. Life pretends to go.