For Jan

Who could concentrate in such base squalor?
Not those whose skin hangs from skeletal frames.
Not those broken by perpetual horror
Only those who herd the life without names.
Cornered by a covert mass abduction
Slain at the cruel whim of those who could.
Concentrated, as in gross reduction
Petrified, begging, grovelling in mud.
Young children ripped from their mothers keeping
Where had the hearts gone, of those in command?
Generations, terrified, and weeping
Merciless orders obeyed on demand
This queue to live a death; torture the strong.
This queue to die, obliterate our wrongs.