“In their greatest hour of need, the world failed the people of Rwanda.”
- Kofi Annan
I have never desired to step inside
a mass grave, but the white marble top
covering a piece of the ground like
a band-aid on a wound silently
invites me in with an open staircase.
The closer I move toward the
entrance, the more I am reminded of
hate. The hate lingers on the ground
around the grave, humming a ballad
reserved for attempted extinction.
Machetes, guns, and axes were the
instruments in the orchestra that
played the tune of death on this piece
of land. The screams of children,
gunshots piercing flesh, bone
breaking under blunt force. I enter
the grave not knowing what to feel.
My heart beats consciously as
I control the flow of air in and
out of my body, trying to play life’s
song amid the loud lingering hum
of hate that has seeped from the
ground above. The light that enters
does not brighten my feelings;
it only reveals the moments of
death on the walls which are shelved
with skulls, some with bullet holes,
some with fractures from machetes.
I move through the thin corridor
fearful of making eye contact
with the skulls for I do not want to
stare into the empty eye sockets
to see individual death. Femurs and
humeri lay like ***** clothes thrown
into the corner of a room. No longer do
they represent one human. Outside the
light warms my skin and directs my heart to beat unconsciously,
my breath to rise and fall in unison
with my steps. It shines upon a new
tune being played. Children laughing,
mothers yelling, hymns being sung. It
spotlights a beauty of humanity:
Reconciliation.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
“In their greatest hour of need, the world failed the people of Rwanda.”
- Kofi Annan
I have never desired to step inside
a mass grave, but the white marble top
covering a piece of the ground like
a band-aid on a wound silently
invites me in with an open staircase.
The closer I move toward the
entrance, the more I am reminded of
hate. The hate lingers on the ground
around the grave, humming a ballad
reserved for attempted extinction.
Machetes, guns, and axes were the
instruments in the orchestra that
played the tune of death on this piece
of land. The screams of children,
gunshots piercing flesh, bone
breaking under blunt force. I enter
the grave not knowing what to feel.
My heart beats consciously as
I control the flow of air in and
out of my body, trying to play life’s
song amid the loud lingering hum
of hate that has seeped from the
ground above. The light that enters
does not brighten my feelings;
it only reveals the moments of
death on the walls which are shelved
with skulls, some with bullet holes,
some with fractures from machetes.
I move through the thin corridor
fearful of making eye contact
with the skulls for I do not want to
stare into the empty eye sockets
to see individual death. Femurs and
humeri lay like ***** clothes thrown
into the corner of a room. No longer do
they represent one human. Outside the
light warms my skin and directs my heart to beat unconsciously,
my breath to rise and fall in unison
with my steps. It shines upon a new
tune being played. Children laughing,
mothers yelling, hymns being sung. It
spotlights a beauty of humanity:
Reconciliation.