He looks around, disgusted at what he sees. So much pain, so many lives gone. Gazing up at the soot-filled sky he wonders What would make someone do this to another? Not long ago he was with his love Assuring her he would be all right. Telling her to look after herself, Because he couldn’t come home When there was so much to be done. Trying to ignore the sights and smells He thinks perhaps he made the wrong choice. Maybe he should have stayed When he had the chance. Gathering his courage Dusting off his resolve He steels himself to the horrors And moves through the carnage Looking for survivors. Under the eaves of a worn-out shack He finds an old man, Tears running down his face Leaving tracks on his ash-covered skin. He asks, “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?” The old man whispers, “We all are in pain. We all are hurt by what has happened. But my wounds run deeper.” To many it would have seemed a small thing The wound the old man had. In the face of such a heinous crime He lamented the loss of his name. “My family is gone!” he rasps. “No one of us remain. When history dulls the memory And the survivors are gone None will know that we, too, suffered. They have erased my ancestors. I am the last – the very last – of a proud And noble lineage.” And he cries. He sits with the old man for a while Listening to his stories. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Trying to console him As he tells of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers. He promises he will do what he is able To make sure none will forget. Time passes, and the old man cries no more. He folds the bony hands on the withered chest Knowing he will remember this clearly. As the months pass and the pain dulls It remains foremost in his mind. When the day finally comes And he is no longer needed He steps through a front door. Amidst the chorus of overjoyed voices As his children happily meet him, He gazes lovingly at his wife and says, “We will have a new name.” |