Member Poem

(On Ethnic Conflicts & Genocide)

They run through reeds, through burning lands,
Through whispers carved by bloodstained hands.
Their names erased, their homes undone,
Yet still they flee, yet still they run.

The fields once gold are bathed in red,
The rivers choke on those who bled.
A history torn, a future blurred,
A fate inscribed without a word.

The guns still hum, the echoes grow,
The seeds of hate still breed below.
For every grave that war has sown,
Another war is swiftly grown.

Yet time will turn, yet tides will wane,
Yet hope still grows despite the pain.
For though the hunted may be weak,
Their children’s children rise and speak.