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.