Black should not be our colour

Black is for the ink, before it went all red. Black is for the ashes, of teachers burnt alive.

Black is for grief,

Black is for mourning.

 

Black is for the little men,

Who returned in little coffins.

 

Black is for the gloomy night,

That lost its stars,

Young and bright.

 

Black is for the lost children,

And the parents’ miserable plight.

 

Black is for the darkness,

In rooms with empty beds

 

Black is for the ink,
Before it went all red.

 

Black is for the shoes,

Before they drenched in blood.

 

Black is for the corridors,

Where the kids once shouted Recess!

Now they echo with the bell of bullets,

Heralding the dance of death.

 

Black is for the ashes,

Of teachers burnt alive.

 

Black is for the fear,

In the eyes that watched it live.

 

Black is for the war,

That seems to have no end.

 

Black is for hatred,

Piling over hatred,

Seeding hatred,

Begetting hatred and nothing else.

 

Black is for the dark chasm,

Of annihilation and death,

That quaffs blood,

Yet not quenched.

 

Black is for the hearts,

Of the mighty men in power.

 

Black is for the slumber,

We woke up from and went back to
in just a few hours.

 

And black is for the display pictures,

We put up for a 'display',

Of empathy, sorrow, pain and dismay,

For the blossoms cut before their spring,

Scattered over graves today.