Orphaned Poem by Agatha Eliza

The soldiers know nothing of us;
but they're here to obey the orders.

But we know who they are..their
uniform, their foreign accent, the way
the earth trembles under their feet
when they march through the village,
their unbrearable laughter, the arrogant tunes
when they get drunk at night in the tavern,
the pestilential smell of death reeking when they
go through the door with a list of
"rebels' names" in their hands, one
pompously mocking us, while the other's
reading the infamous sentence.

He's done with it; his lips are still shaking...
I could tell he's ashamed. "The young
wolf clad in sheep's skin is one of us.
He is just as guilty as the rest. A traitor this lad is! "
my mother thundered, clenching her fists
"It's been long since we've last heard
from your father"..she paused.." or got a word
from your gallant brothers."

With sickels these butchers have come to remove
our roots, to pluck the threads of our culture out
like useless, poisonous weeds. They have come
to strip this land bare of its symbols, language,
name, history, and its devoted people.