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.