Shroud of dirt
Published in
Oct 23, 2020
A poem about ethnic cleansing
The people are chosen
For their ancestral sins,
The subjects are docile
As the poison sinks in.
The people are branded
Their space designated,
The plot is unfolding
They will be decimated.
Their city is built
The limits are named,
And if they’re out after dark
They’re murdered or maimed.
Their coffins are numbered
The dirt is their shroud,
Mass graves for the masses
The fate of the crowds.
