Finally, the 19 year old amateur poem depicting the Armenian Genocide…
Can you hear the howls in the wind of the night,
the human agony clawing at the darkness in search of the light
the waning strength bursting forth in uneven might
warding off the tentacles of misery clenching in unfair spite?
Can you feel the despair as the pire of Hell reaches your face,
the suffocating heat crowding in your much needed space
the vengeful flames crawling up your silken dress of lace
drowning your cries in it’s maddeningly slow pace?
Can you see the death, charred bodies at your feet,
the stone cold corpses fallen by the hand of deceit
the heart rendering cries frozen on maidens’ lips so sweet
wondering what barbaric mind could commit such a feat?
This is the truth of the times that have passed
an act of such cruel intensity to this day unsurpassed
the clock has struck three, the Devil’s net has been cast
a genocidal slaughter, neither the first nor the last…
As an 18 year old, it was the idea of revolution born out of a staunch desire to live that stirred my embers. This is both for April 24 and May 28.
Fragile wings lift the bloody souls of the dead
The children, emaciated and the newborn, unfed
It seems that help has slowed, but time itself sped
And the heartless cowards, long ago have fled.
The night has swept in, the cold spread across scorched lands
The essence of an entire nation creates the undead bands
Naked nails hammered into devout Christian hands
Infernos licking up the corpses, not a single creature stands.
The screams of the dead have long since ceased
The lust for vengeance steadily increased
The heart beats steadily in the shells of the deceased
The barbarians of the past brought out the beast.
A 17 year old’s battle against the injustice of denial
Slaughter and famine took hold of a race
as barbaric forces sought to destroy a culture’s base
as the powers of this world hushed up this case
the world refused to shed its tears
Mothers and daughters taken unbidden
as children are shot or in harems hidden
corpses battered, the souls to God given
and yet the world will not shed its tears
Bloated corpses lined the Euphrates
while the scorching sun the exposed skin grates
as the Devil has determined a whole race’s fates
the world does not shed its tears
Men fought for years and continue still
the youth of this thriving nation won’t rest until
that cruel enemy accepts its sins
and the youth of this nation fights and wins
But for now,
the world has yet to shed its tears
A 16 year old’s amateur prose dedicated to the Armenian Genocide
Shattered ruins mark evidence
of a race that had once thrived
before savages from the East
to our Caucasia did arrive
bloodbaths for them seemed common
as on and on they killed
a zealous massacre emerged
as this was what their God had willed
Slewn corpses lined the land
one that once bore life’s fruit
but now that fruit had withered and died
as farmers were taken as soldiers, recruit
Creatures of the wild that once there lived
ran off in the world never to return
as females would hide their faces
from Turkish men so cruel and stern
weeping’s heard form every home
as tears flowed down so free
for the men of every home and family
should join the army they did decree
barbarian tribes that knew no good
conspired against a race in whole
The poor became victims to petty thefts
though from the wealthy, all they stole
the nation dawdled as it lost its head
when intellectuals herded as sheep were shot
families looted, unmercifully ransacked it all
slaughtered the men for Turks had fought
fallen to its knees sobs racked the nation
as victims were cursed as an infidel creation
bloody days of fear, full of desolation
as the world was blind to the barbaric infraction
grief would grip its people for 50 years’ duration
This is a poem I had written about 5 years ago, though one which seems rather appropriate given the atrocities the innocent of this world are facing on a daily basis today.
Will you walk the lands worn down by ancestors past?
Will you cry the tears of pain of those fallen into cruel traps cast?
Will you wail as misery sets in, haunting souls hold you fast?
Will you scream in blinding pain, stars of the universe ablast?
Will you stare in confusion, your face pale, expression aghast?
How will you cope, drowning in tears that the Heavens have shed?
How will you act, standing alone, lying still on a cold, hardened bed?
How will you sing, your voice a whisper in the wind long dead?
How will you stand, on branches and twigs, shells of a life once led?
Could you forge a new destiny from scraps of a life once known?
Could you walk now on lands where the dead resign, strictly alone?
Could you raise your voice, could you whisper comfort in pain?
Could you do all this from the cold earth in which you’ve lain?