Lines in the Sand (Poetry Monthly)

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Wed, 11 Nov 2015
  • 1806 reads
12 comments
 
For my sixth birthday
I wanted a doll; instead
they gave me a rifle
and a box of bullets.
 
“Frigging use it, kid.
C’mon... shoot at something!”
they shouted. 
 
How about them birds
in those trees for starters.”  
 
I was too small, even
to tote it...
 
Instead, I used the barrel
to mark out hopscotch
on the sand.
 
“This ain’t no party,
no kindergarten, neither”
 
How right they were;
had us dig graves 
with our bare hands.
 
“Fresh out of shovels,”
the bastards lied.
 
My friends, and me
knelt to pick flowers;
they crushed them underfoot. 
Beat us with sticks; told us,
 
“Clean up the river.
Filth attracts filth.”
 
To them, just so much flotsam –
the last remains of a girl; in retrospect
about the same age as me.
 
Braids – drifting free
like green-ribbon
on brackish water.
 
Next day it was one of us –
a boy of nine who’d tried
to run away.  Forced to watch
as he pissed himself.
 
Then they shot him. 
Point blank.
 
Given up as infants;
a disposable commodity. 
All we ever wanted
was to belong.
 
And yet – what were we?
 
Orphanage fodder
to be plundered at will;  
our crime – being born.
 
You can’t fight evil like that
with Kalashnikovs...
 
Malevolence that rumbles on
and on like distant thunder
in rag-torn skies
above their precious land 
where independence
reigns supreme.
 
Where only the hyena
roams free.  
 
Where innocence
will never come again
and only the lavender
stands tall.  
 
Still waiting
to be gathered.
Certificate 15
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Biography

Comments

Submitted by VeraClark on

Superbly drawn with restrained emotion.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thank you, Vera.

Tina

 

Submitted by loquaciousicity on

Ya gotta kinda wonder what's happening to the human race...

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

You are so right, Terry...this poem based, primarily on the experiences of children, now in their thirties, who were kidnapped by the Eritraen Liberation Front...

 

Submitted by love_writing on

This hits hard- emotively and visually. 

'Malevolence that rumbles on and on like distant thunder' - love this. 

love_writing

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

My thansk, LW.  I'm so glad it made an impact on you.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

This gathers emotion as it goes on. I could see it all as much as hear it as I read. Stunning.

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hey, Bee...many thanks for your thoughts, and just to say, thinking of you today, and some.

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Very raw read.

'where independence reigns supreme.  Where only the hyena roams free. ' 
– How often does grieveance by a few seem to become violence and dictatorship by those few on many others and far worse than that they themselves had originally suffered. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

A rhetorical question, indeed, Rhiannon, and one to ponder on, perhaps. 

Many thanks.

Tine

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

It's difficult to comprehend a world of such evil dictatorship and cruelty. Your description of the young boy being shot because he pissed himself, left me with a lump in my throat.

These poor children must wonder why they were ever born. A very moving poem from you Tina.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

It is impossible to imagine, isn't it Jenny? Many, many thanks to you.

Tina