Poem: A Child in Rwanda by Isabel MacGregor

A Child in Rwanda

I’m getting weaker

I’m lying down on the cool green grass

I can’t get up

I can’t feel

I start to see something flowing from my body

I realize I am lying in a cool puddle of red tears

It is my own blood

The man who did this to me moves on to his next victim

The blood that is oozing out of me is his way of showing 

he has won

Won what?

My body?

My soul?

I do not know what he was trying to win

I’m getting weaker

As I stay frozen I remember my parents

I cannot find them

I cannot hear my mother’s soft voice

Or feel her warmth

I cannot hear my father’s rich chuckle

Or feel his strong hands

I have always listened to my parents

Mother told me to never talk to unknown villagers

Father told me to never tell a lie

They both told me to always pray and look to God for shelter

Maybe this is God punishing me

Maybe I didn’t pray enough

Forgive me Lord for I have sinned

I’m getting weaker

The rich red melodious aqueous engulfs my body

I am going to miss my parents

I hope I was a good boy

Author’s Note: This piece was originally written for my CWS choice assignment. It reflects on the gruesome genocide in Rwanda.