Dead Are My People
by Kahlil Gibran 1883 - 1931
Gone are my people, but I exist yet,
Lamenting them in my solitude...
Dead are my friends, and in their Death my life is naught but great
Disaster.
The knolls of my country are submerged
By tears and blood, for my people and
My beloved are gone, and I am here
Living as I did when my people and my
Beloved were enjoying life and the
Bounty of life, and when the hills of
My country were blessed and engulfed
By the light of the sun.
My people died from hunger, and he who
Did not perish from starvation was
Butchered with the sword; and I am
Here in this distant land, roaming
Amongst a joyful people who sleep
Upon soft beds, and smile at the days
While the days smile upon them.
My people died a painful and shameful
Death, and here am I living in plenty
And in peace...This is deep tragedy
Ever-enacted upon the stage of my
Heart; few would care to witness this
Drama, for my people are as birds with
Broken wings, left behind the flock.
What can an exiled son do for his
Starving people, and of what value
Unto them is the lamentation of an
Absent poet?
Excerpt from "Dead Are My People" by Khalil Gibran
“It’s a disgrace for humanity, we’re in the 21st century but we’re still marching for what is the obvious, no more genocides.”
