I am a lowly undergrad close to the end of my journey. Soon I will emerge from the small cove and enter into the abyss.
Why should I remember you?
The packed trains, the names of the haggard frames, the faces and chases of the brood.
Why should I care for you?
For what was lost, for what remains, for your scars , your echoes of pain.
Why should I weep for you, speak, read, or hear about you,
your cries, your sorrow, today.
When all that was, remains past tense and there are no plans to recommence.
I see no need for penance, why shall I lose my sweet sleep?
What I did not sow, why shall I reap?
Why should I, if I was not…
If you were struck, why strike us back?
You still breath strong, what do you lack?
Justice, they say, indeed but for whom?
Those who suffered have laid to rest, their offspring live even if we confess.
I shall not. Nay, it must remain as it has…
100 years, 1000 more.
No scales can justly balance the score.
This land, our pride, our present—Why?
We must deny the genocide.