Poems from my earlier self (at the tender age of 13 years)

The End

Remember it all.

Nowhere to go, no one to call,

The fear on people’s faces, ‘to the showers’ they were told.

The odor lingering,

The smell of burning flesh,

Sweeps past gaunt, solemn faces,

Staring at empty spaces.

Stripped of clothes and dignity,

Hearts thumping, fear amounts,

Out of line, a young boy runs,

Towards the guns, he runs he runs.

Through the air a bullet flies,

A boy dies,

A mother cries,

An officer lies.

A body lies,

Twisted, naked, scattered, torn

Forlorn.

RA

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