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Come women and children
to Darfur
eat from the dust of broken dreams,
bake cakes of sand
moistened with tears of salt,
while I cement my illusion
of power and might;
A king clothe in the ashes of a corpse
Blow wind through the leaves
cut their skins to the bones
feed sand to the molars and canines
Instead of flour or corn
They move like the tides of time
like the seasons of the rain;
Their tears scorch the barren ground,
no pity from the conqueror of dead dreams
they flee the guns and knives of flesh,
bringer of births, angels of death;
They rest now in Darfur, breathing dust,
just one more stop in the desert of life.
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