They Cried Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

They cried.

They were all scattered
Shaking their stick legs
Side to side they flew
Found no birch to glue
Their anthem and lyrics
Were taken and buried.

They cried.

No, was not Katmandu
Neither was Trojan
Nor was that, Haiti
Or the Bam, in Iran.

“How man is brutal! ”

Heard the sound of ground
Birds tear-drops on drums
Rain-shower kept coming
Mother drum was shouting
Natives were out of sight
Died flames; night in dark
Tepees too, rooted-out
Faint Fires were smoke
Around were no natives.
The beating of sticks on skin
And the shout and cry:
“Hateful is such morning.”

Large tree was cut, gone
Tens of years over, died
Homeless now, all the birds.

In minutes, saws and men.
Advancement makes a hell.