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This is my great citadel,
made of the bones
of millions of men and women
died and gone
hewed and killed...
Skulls are placed
with open and empty eye holes
allowing the gentle breeze
to bring in the ashes of dead
The hip-joints
suffered with labor pains
displayed as souvenirs
reminding that no space left
for a single rise against my race
Unbent back bones
are kept in a line
in a secret chamber
as an alarm,
striking a chord…
day and night,
for my wretched cohorts,
who forget the things overnight
that……
"Them",
those who bore those bones,
rose against us!
Koombiya From Sri Lanka
| Submitted Date |
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Thursday, November 26, 2009 |
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