Transfixed before a glass walled pillar
filled with sculls of murdered persons
I heard the plaintive mew of a kitten
saw her in the ornamental trees
planted around the column perhaps
to soften the horror of genocide.
She was tiny, scarecrow thin, hungry
and begging to simply be allowed
to live.
How many souls cry out from her?
How much karma seeks to exorcise
evil carried for the next thousand
reincarnations?
Are you an avatar of the victims,
or does this piteous scream
emit from the lack of dharma
in they who wreaked such horror
in the name of the ancients?
