Fingers strain, clasp, dig.
Sinewed fists clench machete
Above figures falling like murdered shadows.
A red sun glares like eyes carved into dark faces.
It descends and night is filled with crimson.
Night deepens and darkness falls upon fantic hands grasping and pulling.
I am in a darkness of comprehension,
But I know the beast can find me too.
Jews in the showers. Tutsi in the river.
A blade falls. A machine gun fires.
A victim is claimed on each end.
All hands struggling in the darkness.
Where are you, Imana?
In the eyes of a widow, on the lips of singing Rwandans,
At the tips of my feeble reaching fingers
In the stillness I grope for life,
In the stillness I see light.
I see fists release and a glow break the fabric of the night.
Where are you Imana?
I see dawn break the fabric of the night.