Across the border they talk about peace, while Rwandan voices cry out from the trees. The visionaries cry out I hear them in the distance but no comfort to be had for those hiding in the trees praying for drops of dew to wipe the sweat from their faces. A Baby holding on to a sister’s breast praying for milk but mamas gone and with her the source of life, someone put a cold bullet in her chest. Taken out by darkness, we crouch and hide in the trees.
The stones cry out, silent voices from the ground. I walk the nameless graveyard, stones in the middle of Europe; six million gone. I hear their cries in the stones, not gone, not silent – these voices linger on. We close our ears and call it war while we ignore their silent cries, now hopeless and forlorn. Their voices aren't silent but we cannot hear them because we continue to bludgeon and kill another, snuffing out the spark of life that makes us one.
What is it about a human being that ignites an evil so diseased that at once we are covered in an incurable leprosy!
What is it about the human race who uncovers another’s body with only the intent to deface and a life to erase!
Rwandan voices cry from the trees, in my sleep they grow louder and louder, Jewish voices cry from invisible camps which we cannot see because of our brutality. But I have seen the tattoos, the numbers where names should have been, death where life should have teamed. I have seen desperation in the eyes of a survivor, desperate for the world to stop iniquity.
I pause for a minute on this path of life and find some shade in the grasp of the willow tree, I touch my humanity and hear three voices crying together - we turn our back on humanity’s brutality and whisper “God grow the trees!”
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