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Sometimes in Srebrenica
It might be a city of paradise in Bosnia,
Its memories are as fragile as a vase
The horrors and tears stained on the canvas of time
And it's something that no one forgets.
With a child snatched from his mother,
Begging her to pray for his soul
As fear ascends like a dark cloud
Standing in line and awaitng the bullet of death.
Why does it always hurt us much?
Hatred with all in the name of religion,
We deserve to live as equals
And always pledge to "Never Again."
Copyright ©
Mpinge Mpinge
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