Genocide

Genocide
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A young boy weeps,
Hiding where his mother
Put him just before
They got there.
He hides, sobbing,
After watching
His mother, raped
and stabbed,
Bleed out on the floor
Of their one-room hut.
The men come back,
Searching for metals,
Finding none,
They drench the thatch
Roof, wood walls, the dirt
Floor with gasoline,
The smell burns
The child’s nostrils.
The men light a match;
Drop it as they leave,
Laughing.
The match hits
The oil-soaked ground;
The hut explodes
Into flame.
The child screams
As the flames engulf.
His screams fade;
The men walk calmly
away.





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