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