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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