A Poem by Hiba Babiker @hurricanehibz

The scholars have spoken,

They saw a crescent moon

Marking the beginning of the end,

One could only hope that applies to our suffering,

Gunshots and cries form a symphony,

The once lively country 

Is now a graveyard of both lives and dreams,

The people talk of peace,

That between the oppressed and their oppressor

Can we offer an olive branch to those

Who would turn it into a knife against our necks?

Pleas of women being violated,

Men begging for mercy,

Replace the call for prayer,

For who can find peace 

Amidst all this chaos?

Answer me, 

I speak for those whose voices have been silenced,

Forgotten,

Pushed to the background,

Their stories 

Too daunting

Too traumatic

Too appalling 

For this idealistic view,

The mother mourns her dead children,

The father is empty,

Grief his new friend

He had given them his daughter,

Swayed by their silver tongued lies

And promises of bearing no ill will,

He had fallen for their deception 

Sentenced to a life full of regret,

His daughter tied to a strange man

In a far away land,

Her body no longer her own,

Her heart in pieces 

For they had failed her,

She suffers every night

At the hands of a tyrant,

Her dignity was sold

Yet she hadn’t made that deal,

What choices had she made?

When the janjaweed came

Who was to blame?

Not her,

Yet she endures

Along with millions of girls like her

With a band on her finger

Like handcuffs for her hostage,

All this blood

Soils our land

Your hands are dirty,

Yet you make demands

I’ll break my fast

With Justice served

Then we’ll enjoy 

The peace,

This is what they fear

When Sudan Speaks