‘THE TWO LITTLE HILLS' by Martin Small

We travel from so far
To the little hill
Where only silence
Speaks so loudly

Blue skies gray clouds
Touching the far horizon
The sound of birds
Flying and singing
The whistles of a train
Breaks the silence
Of this quiet world

Just to be here
On this little hill
Where memories and pain
A reminder of life and love

Overlooking this place
Are the everlasting rainbows
Beautifying this lonely place
In words not knowing to man

Our eyes full with tears
Knowing that in this silent place
Our little son and brother
Is laid to rest

A hill called “Moriah”
With so many stones
So many names
Young and old just memories

We lean on the stone
On which the name
‘Stuart Michael’ is engraved
Our dear son; and loving brother
So young so innocent
Taken from us Why?

We close our eyes
And in silence we pray
And when a tear drops on the grave
A voice we hear:
“Mama – Papa – Dear Sister”
“Thanks for coming”

Like a dream… I froze…
I froze in time only to see
Another little hill
A hill of memories – and so much pain

A place where I was born and raised
I see the houses I see the trees
I see the streets
Where I was playing

Now streets full of naked people
Men women children young and old
Friends relatives I also see
My Mama – My Papa and my two little sisters
Naked holding on to each other
Screaming – crying – praying
For their last walk on this earth
To their graves
They took themselves to a funeral
From which no one came back

I screamed out of pain
Oh God in heaven
How can you watch this horror?
Do you hear their cries?

I wake up! But!
It was not a dream
It was real… very real
The slaughter of my town
The slaughter of my people
My dear ones my very dear ones
Gone forever just memories

Only the wind
Blowing over the graves
On these two little hills
Is a witness
Of a one time cry
Leaving no pain in our hearts
A pain --- which grows with time
Calling on us
So loudly in silence
“Remember us”