Sark

You carry the weight 

   of numbers unknown

The cries of those who fell

   so long ago

Across the desert

   nameless and faceless.

This moment, these memories

   Slither past the borders

Generation

   upon

      generation,

It lives.

It  grows.

Father to son,

   son to daughter.

And like

   those who came before

You

   cannot

     forget. 

'The other must pay,'

   you say,

'95 years later the blood

   is still a splendid red.'

Eternal feud revisited

   paid

      and

         played

between -yan and -oğlu unborn,

     innocent brothers

      whose only sin

          was to come into being

into the borderlands

of political hate.