A land once so green and fertile,

Was reduced to nothing,

Nothing but mere rubble.


Ashes of mansions,

Of what was once a village.


Scope so wide,

With no form of obscurity.

Ground paraded with scattered bodies,

All lifeless,

And burnt beyond recognition.


Homeless we were,

Hopeless it was,

That nothing had survived.

Nowhere to go,

And nothing to eat.

Yet a child I was.


And despite my little understanding,

My innocence had been robbed off,

My childhood corrupted,

And my memories tarnished.

Traumatizing it was,

Even more exacerbating,

The intrusive flashbacks.


The wails for mercy,

The deafening screams.

The inhumanity in the eyes of the murderers.

As they raised their machetes,

As they threw the flaming torches on the paraffin-drenched ground.

With no regard for who was in the house.

With not even an iota of mercy.


What has become of the world?

That people resolve to manslaughter,



Isn’t there a better way to come into a consensus?

Why would you continue to destroy childhoods?


And even resort to loss of lives?








This poem is about: 
My country


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