The shame of things to come

In a rusty diner in Tuskegee,
seven sins have reunited. Their abominations,
once seen in sober light, blurred and diminished
by the intoxication of ignorance. Our shame,
of all that followed in the steps of the Kristallnacht,
silent. As if the collective memory of a generation
dies with its last optic nerve.

On the wide-stretched shores of Europe,
seven hundred and seventy-seven Aylan Kurdis are buried. Their crimes,
the unthinkable thought of equality, judged and sentenced
by the show trial that is known as a political poll. Our horror,
of all that will follow in the steps of the again-lost humanity,
superficial. As if a modern day Normandy, where lead and hate
are the welcoming committee for defenceless fetuses,
is a tale of fiction.