Cheri Babajian: Miles of Dirt and Sand

Forced across miles of dirt and sand

Singed not only the soles of their feet on the land,

But sent shock waves of pain deep into the souls

Of men, women and children, forced into roles

That none had chosen but at gun point coerced,

Pushed along in terror, parched in thirst,

Watched in horror as loved ones no longer stand

From murderers’ hands or the stark stinging sand.

Parents screamed as their children collapsed,

And cried out in desperation unable to grasp

That Hell had opened up right at their feet

In the faces of Turkish soldiers intent on defeat

Of the Armenian people…a true genocide.

While a generation of youth and intellectuals died

For no other reason than their ethnicity

Hatred so vile—no empathy!

Scientists, scholars, poets and more

Captured, tortured-- wiped out at the core.

The nightmare returns as I sleep in my bed

A comfortable place where I lay my head

In soft and warm bedding until the scene comes again

As I see my tribe bleeding …I see Turkish sin.

I feel myself walking across hot desert sands

Parched, weak and frail, it is hard to stand.

I am angry with every gasp of air that I breathe

And feel protective of all of my brethren I see.

As I choke on the dust from the dirt and debris

I wonder why no one has set my people free.

I see beautiful children slaughtered by grown men.

Innocent young ones unable to defend

Themselves, as their parents have already died

On the blood soaked trail of deceit and lies.

I gasp for air as my lungs search for more

And awaken confused and away from the horror.

Stand up and demand that the truth will be known!

All nations, all people must take hold and own

Their past, their present and their future too.

No immunity from truth, for me or for you.

Copyright Cheri Babajian 2013. This poem appears on APP with kind permission of the poet.

Cheri Babajian: The Bones of My Past

The bones of my past stir me to unrest;

Trance like in my dreams flying over the desert,

Buried remains …sanguine and blessed…

My soul strains to hear

My sisters and brothers crying out in despair

Overheated and baked on this unholy trail,

Where the horrors enslaved them in brutal fear.

Herded like sheep…starved and frail;

Their eyelids once held onto the trappings of torture,

But now have transformed into sacred dust.

And in the afterglow of the sun’s sear,

Muted anguished crying out in pain and distrust.

The silence …”Turks bad” my grandfather’s rule;

Bonded in memory, we carry our gene pool

Across all the continents yet we return,

And gather to honor, to wail and to weep.

We will carry this lesson for all to learn

For all to remember, this dead walking sleep…

A nation of people uprooted, disbanded,

Forced into nightmares from which we don’t wake.

Reality speaks from these bones left to bleach

In the scorching sands of a graveyard forgotten.   

Awaken and listen to my people’s sorrow:

It happened before it can happen tomorrow.

Copyright Cheri Babajian 2010. This poem appears on APP with kind permission of the poet.