Guns sounding, bullets flying

Children under tables

Huddled in close proximity

That was my last memory of mother telling me she loves me

Letting us know there was a chance we wouldn’t make it through

The tanks marched in the streets

Causing the ground to rumble beneath us

She said this was the fault of bad men with a lack luster love for power

A war that was pointless and the soldiers killing my friends were victims

Mother is a forgiving woman, I was a son who struggled with forgetting

Stun grenades, sheltered behind smoke screens hid the blood rivers

But the screams echoed unsilenced

Like sirens they called to me

Mothers eyes prayed for my safety

And my hearts amen rang loud like the door I slammed behind me

As my feet moved from steps to paces

Joining the sea of protesting faces

All of them reminders of the self induced military mission I have pledged to take part in

As we march on, our voices harmonized

Songs sung, on empty stomachs by bodies fueled by rage

Directed at oppressors who felt their language was more important than our own

Songs sung by a united people, moments mimicking funerals

Moments preceding mass funerals

Suppression fire raining down on South African youths singing their negro spirituals

Seconds moving so fast, events happening in rapid succession

Oh my god, what happened to Hector Peterson

Some when else, 40 seconds moving so fast

Interrupted attempts at genocide

Massacre never to be forgotten

Hearts struggling to forgive

And even though mother had a forgiving heart

She never forgave those who never acknowledged the sacrifice of her son who never forgets


Jade Novelist ©️ 2017
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