By Sidra Farhang
i opened my history book
and searched all its pages
to look for my people
erased through the ages
how stupid of me
to forget the reality
that truth had been buried
denied by authority
but i flicked through the book
and searched page for page
to look for some colour
red softened as praise
but whoever had written this
some John, Paul, or Smith
ignored bloodstains in margins
written off as mere myth
the war had been won
before it had started
dead bodies made trophies
a victory cold and departed
the men, they threw bombs
and children threw stones
the mothers’ cries faded
leaving nothing but bones
the bodies were buried
hidden from sight
under layers of mud
beneath history’s light
the blood from the rivers
was then used as ink
to write in these pages
that taught us what to think
so i closed the book shut
though its pages stayed clean
for history remembers
only what power has seen.
