I Cry From A Vacuum Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

I am seated on my bed in silence,
Reminded that war broke yesterday-leaving suspense,
Agony echoing in this African land is so intense,
Fear and insecurity are all these bereaved souls can sense.
Will tomorrow come? -A dilemma so immense,
Yet I hear a bang on the door and behold a shadow near the fence,
My heart is at overpump-a gloomy scene not worth a dance,
I open, peep and see her-beaten as though weighing an ounce,
She is she whom I sat with in class yesterday, before things became tense,
Soaked in blood, the massacre of her family she recounts-she is here for assurance.

The nations have grown cold to my pain,
I cry for help, clamor for justice and peace-but it's all in vain!
Oh how this land once so beautiful with its beaches was everything but foreign,
Yet now its scenery, deafened by children's cries and mothers' agony, is of disdain.
Down the street, they are holding machetes and I am tempted to say 'Stop! It's of no gain.'
But these Burundian hearts have grown cold-a generation of many like Cain,
What shall I do? I am only a child and the only one seemingly sane.
I desire to go back to school, I want this ended so I can enrich my brain,
I long to see my peers at school and for once freedom attain,
Who shall respond to my pain? Will I ever peace and unity obtain?