Neda

From the blood stain Like an effigy helpless in the street Your history rise again The marble consciences to meet Every tragedy is a failure of omniscience Telling the perfidy of our mortal sense After the revolution had been gutted By the silence for peace I stared tear besotted At the Tutsi long deceased His mouth aloud in prayer That this world did not hear I too lost more than you that day I lost faith in figures of similitude Courage melt like ice on sunny day And for nothing we give all away. Let me live in world where alone Your spirit dares the stony memory Let me anathema to political thrones From my garden grow your history. For it was then Medea-Persia that Scattered us like grains And thought we were just bats Blind and certain for one role That by which the world knew its fear And drove the old Dravidian dread Before my little flower shed her tear Before they left her crumpled, dead.