Shroud of dirt
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.
