From Babi Yar to Ferguson

I am a silent scream
above the dew-stained grass.
Here I rest, painfully, with the others,
And we form a new tribe.

We scream endlessly as one,
Echoing the ditch in which we fell.
Our voices call out to the dead,
Those who cannot talk for the holes.

Above the new green we stand
forgotten by all but the lost.
Our silence defeans in the open,
Our rage unfulfilled in a bubble.

With hands up we were dropped
like stones before the leaden eyes.

I am a silent scream
above the blood-soaked grass.
Here I rest, painfully,
With the rest of my tribe.

babi yar

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