Pictures from my father’s study

ingrained upon my childhood memory

black and white photos… yet

somehow perceiving the bluish hues of bruising

the red blood as it flowed like rivers

skeletal remains of a people

who were once mothers

fathers, teachers, friends

left neatly in its place

the unclean stench of death

I remember my anguish

my pain for those who I would not know

they had not deserved their fate –

how could this have happened?

pleased, swelling with pride

I remember the feeling

of knowing my father, a boy – yet a soldier

had fought bravely for a people

he did not know –

he was a reluctant witness.