Confronting the Complexity of Loss
truth memory justice_final- 11st sep 2015
truth memory justice_final- 11st sep 2015
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1958…’71…’77…’81…83<br />
Jean Arasanayagam<br />
It’s been a long journey<br />
Still not over<br />
So many landmarks<br />
Each a tombstone<br />
History in each monument<br />
Of <strong>the</strong> slaughtered<br />
I can name <strong>the</strong> years,<br />
I travelled through <strong>the</strong>m.<br />
Once, it was no concern <strong>of</strong> mine<br />
I had my own identity<br />
Safe from <strong>the</strong> marauders<br />
I watched from afar<br />
The burning had not reached me.<br />
The next time <strong>the</strong> guns sounded<br />
Their echoes came from cities, villages<br />
And jungles far away<br />
Men slept with guns by <strong>the</strong>ir side<br />
The wounded crawled<br />
Blinded and maimed,<br />
Bodies drifted down river<br />
As coconuts, driftwood and decomposing<br />
Corpses in <strong>the</strong> flood, borne like flotsam<br />
In <strong>the</strong> current<br />
Or lay piled on streets<br />
And public market places<br />
Rotting spoiled vegetables.<br />
It happened again and yet again<br />
The tedious repetition<br />
Of violence split blood smashed glass<br />
Walls crumbling like crushed origami<br />
Flames bursting<br />
Smoke billowing<br />
Loot filched from <strong>the</strong> “enemy”<br />
All day <strong>the</strong> sirens screamed<br />
Fire engines racing through <strong>the</strong> burning<br />
Cities, gunfire popping over <strong>the</strong> hills.<br />
History repeats itself<br />
Or so I’m told<br />
Is it only in deeds <strong>of</strong> violence?<br />
Battlefields strewn with<br />
The nameless dead<br />
Each grave a file<br />
Misplaced, <strong>of</strong> lost identities<br />
History repeats itself<br />
So <strong>the</strong> act has continuity.<br />
Arson, murder, rape, looting,<br />
Battering clubbing hacking burning<br />
Count and recount <strong>the</strong> numerous ways<br />
On <strong>the</strong> blood splattered abacus<br />
Keep count although your fingers<br />
Touch death, reveal <strong>the</strong><br />
Statistics before we all forget.<br />
It’s all happened before and will happen again<br />
And we <strong>the</strong> onlookers<br />
But now I’m in it<br />
It’s happened to me,<br />
At last history has meaning<br />
When you’re <strong>the</strong> victim<br />
When you’re <strong>the</strong> defeated<br />
The bridges bombed<br />
And you can’t cross over.<br />
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