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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 />

22

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