Rwanda 1994 - Poem by Brian Wake
He fills, with pink, polluted dregs,
a yellow plastic can, and Lake Muhazi
fills again with water bleeding through
its pot-shot bullet holes.
With innocent disgust, ignores,
offshore, the bleached and, face-down,
bloated corpse that floats as lumber.
Five or six gun-rattling years of age,
he is spilling rivers from a perforated can,
dripping trails of pink, polluted dregs
along a path to where his parents sleep.
And Lake Muhazi weeps for him through
bullet holes, not able to revive a withered
lip or draw a tear from unblinking eyes.
Comments about Rwanda 1994 by Brian Wake
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You