Sunday, May 15, 2022

Genocide reparations

 


 ‘genocide reparations’ Trgates, 3/10/2022
nations sitting, watching,
doing nothing save for lectures,
so they “unionized” under various acronyms,
arbitrarily stepping in,
sending heartfelt prayers to the others. 
the murder of multiple millions ignored,
South Africa, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Ethiopia, Tibet, Taiwan, the American expansion, British imperialism, Israel, Palestine, Pakistan, Iran, Russia, Afghanistan, Japan, and more, then Holocaust camps ignored and refugees rejected by countries today celebrating their assistance finally to end them …….. 
nations claiming ownership of geography,
the most recent flag pierced into the earth declares, “Our land, our flag, always!”
the ancient story hasn’t evolved,
only some weapons added,
jealousy’s rock to the side of the head,
followed by, “who is my brother’s/sister’s keeper?”
genocide is the act of war’s expansion,
killing innocents in the way, 
no matter the right’s fist in the air,
no weapons in hand, 
is willful murder of those in the way. 
The Serpent blamed Yahweh for not informing sufficiently our first species. 
Ish, blames Yahweh, and Isha, “You gave me her, she gave me the fruit.”
Isha, blames, why she ate, and shared with Ish, “The Serpent tricked me.”
genocide reparations,
not found in excuses for 
impressionist painting. 
turning one’s own cheek,
not the same when watching 
another’s be ripped off. 
voyeurism is collaborative. 
I love you, what does this mean?
I love my children, grandchildren, godchildren. What does this mean?
Do I extend this love to everyone’s children, grandchildren, godchildren? 
Here we may, again,
“stroll together in the cool morning, in the garden.”  
—————————
…………..and then this older one is filled with the similar horror two decades ago………

lost mothers" (during Kosovo's attack) timothyrgates,6/7/2000


the stench was of my a hatred

soils her young child

she barely is able to hold on 

to this beloved one, now dead


a fist rises in the crowd,

crying out, "One more blasted --

victory!"

her tears drip down and stain

"Why? -- This poor one may 

have grown up and killed you!"


the furor of the crowd is quieted

though their love of the sullen, 

like clasped fingers of the fist, 

is not easily pried free


she looks down, now

through swollen lids, and

screams, "This in not my child!"

yet, she does not release the beloved one.

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