Those Left Standing Poem by Rebekah Gamble

It's black.
The black on the red.
The black of the hope,
black of the happiness,
black of the heart.
Eternal darkness.
Eternal shadows.
The blood soaked by the ground
screams out to me,
but I am restrained
and can not avenge
the black.
Black is of those left standing.
The shadows whisper,
murmur and drone
in a strange tongue,
a strange language.
I know not what they say.
The shadows stand,
visibly burdened
by memory and circumstance.
My shadow stands
visibly burdened
by knowledge and helplessness.
It's black.
The black on the red.

25 June 2oo8
On seeing a picture of Afghan refugees' shadows on a red mud wall.