The Disappeared
On the Disappearance of Friends in Exile
The land is haunted
By unburied corpses and foetuses.
None have names,
Or tribe with kinsmen,
Or identity with place-of-birth,
Or wounds with scars.
None of them are known,
But they are gone to early death
History, even, does not know who they are.
No voice of mourning save the speeches--
The hollow, laboured speeches of poisoned lips;
And sorcerers calling for them from hidden shrines.
It's an old story - the oldest we have in the land -
The story of ebforced disappearance.
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