Nowhere, not anywhere, is there a sign of blood
Not on the killer’s hand or fingernails, nor a mark on his sleeve
No red tip of the dagger, no colour on the point of the spear
No spot in the dust, no stain on the roof
Nowhere, not anywhere, is there a sign of blood

It was not given in the service of kings for blood-money
Nor offered to the faith as a downpayment on future blessings
Nor spilt on the battlefield to be considered trustworthy
To be famous, emblazoned on some flag

The helpless, orphaned blood kept crying out
Nobody, however, had the mind or the time to listen
No plaintiff, no evidence, end of the judgement
This blood of those who live in the dust is food for the dust.

( my translation of a poem by Faiz Ahmed Faiz ).

(c) Satori Publishing, 2020.