we keep on blaming them
those who steal from us
whatever we have given
all by heart and mind.
we scheme for another
revolution and forgive ourselves
for our past losses
many lives, a river of blood
a broken bridge. a house burned
an explosion at the wrong hour
killing those not intended
vengeance is blind and terror
is so unkind. There is no name
for hatred. There is no address
for violence.
we lose sight of who are are
we sit on the river banks wondering
where this water comes from
and why is there streaks of blood
on the rock and sands
old age creeps on our brows
white hairs taunt us to stop
our legs are weary and our mind
start to forget where we are
heading
some new faces are learning and
will want to follow and ask for our
old maps
we look at them with pity
we cry for our misfortunes
then we have decided to move out
to secret islands and unknown caves
they lose contacts of us
and there we begin to write
what horror we have inflicted
upon our souls
weary now, we begin to really know.
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