Blood-Red River
A hundred and thirty flowers
Were swallowed by a sea of blood —
What a spectacle of faith,
What a feast of religion.
In hotels and motels, the crowds swarm;
Biryani and kebab fill the air
With their tempting aroma —
Nothing happened, nothing at all.
The cries of mothers and fathers
Became photographs,
Became food for the media.
People will forget —
They always do —
Yet the rose bushes,
Bathed in blood,
Will never forget.
In the heart remain the slashed marks,
Fragrant with memory’s echo;
The waves will ripple forever —
The moving image
Of the blood-red river
Will never fade.
Those who committed this sin —
Robots, bloodthirsty robots,
Without human flesh,
Without feeling,
Without the quiet corners of home,
Without family,
Only slaves to command —
By what words could they be honored?
If there were no humans on this earth,
Who would uphold religion?
The devil’s trick —
To thicken the world with darkness,
To shroud the future in fog.
The child who once longed
To bloom like a flower,
Who would raise hands toward the sky,
Who would walk unknown paths —
Now trembles in terror,
The marks of bullets
Buried deep in the mind.
