Once they were hunted, once they bled,
once they counted their own dead.
Once they cried to deafened ears,
pleading, drowning in their fears.
They swore that never would return
the camps, the smoke, the cities burned.
They carved their sorrow into stone,
so history would not disown.
Yet now the echoes twist and break,
as hands once scarred now retaliate.
As walls rise high and bombs descend,
where will this cycle ever end?
Does pain absolve the crimes we see?
Do ghosts now shape new tyranny?
From ashes once, they swore, “No more,”
but now they darken another’s door.
The lesson lost, the cries ignored,
as history wields a bloodstained sword.
For suffering should not give the right
to steal another’s home and light.
From Holocaust to genocide,
how quickly justice turns aside.
Yet truth still stands, though buried deep—
for even silence learns to speak.