I dont want to know.
I dont want to go.
I've heard this story too many times.
I sit and laugh and drink my wine.
Why should I care about history that lies?
It's not like I'll ever hear their cries.
I dont understand- and I don't want to
But all of a sudden, all out of the blue,
I'm in a different place.
They tell me of these crazy ways.
And this is where I realize.
Of this place that I should despise.
That the history is in my blood.
The history is inside the ones l love.
Its in the bruises and scars that they hold.
It is in the stories that must be told.
And although I wish it could be a forgoten mystery.
I know that I must acknoledge my history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My wonderful niece wrote this poem after watching the movie 'The Devil's Arithematic' to truely understand this poem you truely need to watch this movie...Her insight is wonderful! ! ! !