Under Orders

They were under orders,
this excuse,
to unleash human madness.
Men, all identical, treaded over the city,
to murder, rape, and slaughter Us.

Could it ever be justified?
We fight for our convictions,
how ever wrong or right they may be,
But never should children pay,
the price of insanity.

Them, the future, the young ones,
unable to protect themselves,
to grasp the reasons for it all,
To know why they were still alive.

Why?
When she had looked up,
To that soldier,
The black metal pointed to her face,
And in those eyes, her eyes, the fear,
And in his eyes, the light of memory;
Why had he seen his own daughter in her?
Why did he turn and say a phrase in his language,
And she knew the words were “Don’t touch her, I’ll let her live.”?
And that laughter from the other men,
Mocking the weak one, who’d failed to follow orders,
Cold. Dry. Vicious.
Then the beating of the boots against her ribs,
Then the distant clicking on the pavement.

Quiet tears of anguish.
In search of warmth, I curled up against the dying body of my brother.
Fear.
Despair.
What to live for now? All the blood, in front of my eyes.
And no one saw, my mother tortured, my father brought down,
No one to believe me, those who loved me have died,
No one to remember why I’m still alive.
So what do I live for now?