It was a day like any other,
With my father, brother and mother.
After having so much fun,
All the enjoyment we had done.
To our home, coming back,
Of time we lost track.
As the bus came to a stop,
I felt my heart drop.
At a desolate and lonely place we stood,
Only hope for the best we could.
Our bus was mounted by a group of men,
All in all, they were ten.
Faces covered by scarves,
None of them were dwarves.
With frightening guns in their hands,
And no fear of the lands.
They took my father and brother away,
Even though I begged to let them stay.
All the children began to cry,
And their tears no one could dry.
I wish I hadn’t looked out the window,
From my memory it won’t ever go.
They stood all the men in a line,
Tried to look for a sign.
Then gunshots were heard, ever loud,
My sight; tears began to shroud.
I saw my father fall to the ground,
I heard my brother let out a sound.
With laughter and gleam in their eyes,
They left us with grief and sighs.
We finally got home; badly shaken,
Feeling distressed and forsaken.
This memory haunts my waking hours,
Whether under the sun or stars.
I wait by the window, most of the time,
A visible victim of a crime.
I hope it was a nightmare; all that I saw,
I hope “they” get caught by the law.
We visit their graves everyday,
Of peace and happiness we do pray.
All the time; my father I miss,
His laugh; his smile; his goodnight kiss.
My brother deserved a longer life,
Free from worry and every strife.
Lost in the past we seem to be,
No hope for the future do we see.
In this world of hate, we are all alone,
People have hearts of stone.
Its not our fault; we are who we are,
Whether you look from near or far.
The Hazara community wants peace too,
How to find it, we have no clue.