Memory serves as the bedrock of individual and collective identities, anchoring societies and nations in the turbulent seas of history. In the aftermath of genocidal atrocities, where the very fabric of society is torn asunder, memory stands as a bastion of resistance against oblivion. For it is through memory that we honor the victims, learn from the past, and chart a path towards reconciliation and renewal. As the timeless George Santayana adage goes, Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Memory, therefore, is not merely an act of nostalgia, but a sacred duty, a beacon of light guiding men and nations through the darkest of times to a point of historical and moral clarity, as key safeguards against repeating past horrors. The following poem, inspired by Rwanda’s example, explores a new angle to echoes of memory. Another Year The heart’s Aches on display, Weighed down By losses of yesterday; Churns out sounds Of muted grief, And of lives Hanging on a cliff; As fingers Of tearing sorrows Massage hearts Without windows For hopeful air to flow, To lift the spirit that bow Each living moment In surrender to the torment Of lives dear, now laid low. Another year Of mourning Every morning; Another painful sea Carrying a solemn plea: For justice For peace For healing wounds Inflicted by vile hounds. Another commemoration For a family lost to execution And for the thousands Erased by murderous hands. The joyous songs The dancing throngs And vibrant hues Hide the painful views That silently rule my soul; A wound smelling so foul A fractured heart That falters at every start Of each time to remember I cling onto the memory Of my mother's hands, Pale, frail and loose Holding me close Against the chilling Blizzards of hate’s sting; And the sound Of gashing wind Carrying her words Of comfort in fragile cords; A fleeting veil of hope lost As an echo in howling dust That cannot hide The faces of the dead Forever etched In my heart’s eye, As a turbulent sea Of endless pain. Today, they march With fragility in each branch In the collective, a solemn stride, In memory of their infinite pride A march to honor souls lost For peace and liberty at any cost. Again The world commemorates While silent pain persists; A silent wound Hidden within The depths of my soul. Yet, memory, Is the only weapon That truly resists, And consists Of the power To confront The darkness; Keep the candle Of Humanity Aflame And make Hope whole; Again.
