It was on a Tuesday, or was it a Monday?
Our shackles were no more, loose wrists, tongues, more
The din high, patriotic slogans rose as morning bread
Furnace of frustration bursting flames, fanfare fueled air
Loudest of speeches seldom reach the truth buried in folded muck
Frazzled by giants pounding our mountains, flying banners red or black
We are just like them, not at all! Unique! Special! Blessed! Cursed!
Sing unity, peace but know the truth of looped prisoners in a rigged trial
Civilizations parade in dreams of justice, world order, international law as
Tanks roll over our graves, drones mark posteriors as golden crosses we bear for
Laser guided missiles to drill sense into our heirs, who flee, cower, blame, sour
No brotherly cessation of hostilities, rabid animals and their traps set for supper
All this and an elaborate artifice of a church of fake noose
A clergy of black menace within the community organ pipes
Who needs grey wolves when you have Armeniana
Fleecing one another at the door, on the way in and out once more?
Outsider, underdog, never play the responsible party
Others must clean messes left by sloppy para-solitary leaders
Bought and sold on the open market of the East and resold
By nightfall to the Western tourists admiring tassels, branding howls.
Our ancient churches, crosses, bleed innocence from unborn generations
Store windows entice posing naked mannequins in flickering neon lights
Plastic toys, paper trinkets imagining Paris, or NY for their broken kin
Away from their villages, barnyard animals, feudal family feuds with no end.
Bedros Afeyan
Pleasanton, CA
12-31-2020