LITERARY | Unheard Call

Untold pain and silent struggles—these are the wounds that time cannot heal. The traumas of human rights victims are forever etched not only in their minds but also in the minds of those who will not forget.

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Bodies are moving, yet they are cold and weary; 

their eyes talk, their hearts plea— 

alive, but they haunt you in your dreams. 

 

They have scars, calling yet unseen; 

theirs do not bleed, but they sting, 

their fists are closed, but hearts never heal.   Oh, how, and when will they feel…  Their life must have been dread—  Unlived, unlike Epicurean philosophy 

 

They crawl their way out like souls, unfed; 

though the days of Halloween have gone, 

the chills of their yesterday linger on. 

 

Scars may get thinner, and time may fleet, 

nights return like a morning daydream— 

spiritless in motion, emotion in vain.