The Living Children Are Buried Now

We did not understand. Then they started to put people in those holes, those people were alive,” said former grocery shop owner Ali, 46, pausing to weep. …After a while we heard gunfire. I can’t forget that scene. Women, children, crying for help. We had to run for our lives, there was nothing to be done for them.
– DAYRABUN Iraq (Reuters)

A young man watches on as men dig ditches in the desert.
Their long beards and Islamic signs: painted on their skulls;
the black eyes, the rifles, the hatred all spell something he,
as a Yezidi cannot comprehend in darkening motions of scraped sky.

He hears the crying of the women, the children, and the guns.
It awakens in him a truth: they are all being buried alive.
He studies the face of hardened men: the women and old behind;
they know they must choose, and choose quickly; flee or die.

Even as he tells the reporter his tale it all seems so unreal to him
that men are so cruel and inhuman; yet his eyes are not blind,
this scene is etched in his mind like acid, and will never go away,
all he can do now is forget his gods, who have turned a blind eye.

Ten thousand fled these Sringar mountains into dust and oblivion?
They have no home, no place to rest their head; the enemy is all.
Our leaders sit back and gaze into their own navels, and will not accept
blame for our country’s shame for this black perplexity of death.

“I can’t forget that scene. Women, children, crying for help.
We had to run for our lives, there was nothing to be done for them.”
The world watches on as nothing is done. Death. Torture. Genocide.
I am at a loss of words at the murderous intent of this blanched world.

 – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

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