Somewhere beyond the rainbow,

where time does not fracture memory,

I imagine you four together—

a family whose journey was cut short—

Mama, still keeping watch over each of you,

your bodies made whole—

no trace of the machete wounds that took you.

✦

I speak to you there. Quietly.

Across years that never asked permission to pass,

across a childhood that learned too early

how absence can take shape,

sit at the table,

and never leave.

✦

You did not see what came after.

You did not see us grow—

not the trembling steps.

You did not see the weight we carried—

hardship that did not pause for the orphaned

betrayal that found us anyway,

roads that did not open easily.

✦

You did not live to see the strength that followed.

You were not there—

when our names were called,

when we crossed the stage,

when vows were spoken

into a life you should have stood inside.

✦

When first doors opened,

when the world widened before us,

when successes took shape in our hands,

when little loves began to blossom—

we longed for you.

Treasures who will never know

Grandma and Grandpa,

never feel the way you would have held them,

loved them,

spoiled them as only you could.

✦

Oh how I wish

you had stood there—

just once—

to witness it.

✦

There are pieces that do not gather.

Words that do not form.

Silences we hand over carefully.

When the days turned heavy

and comfort had a voice—

yours was gone.

Oh how I wish

I could still hear you

say my name.

✦

Thirty-two years later—

We remember you every day—

not just April.

♡

Papa—

the kindest soul,

my first love,

my best friend—

who carried my name with pride,

who called me his little princess.

♡

Mama—

I remember the last words you said—

your prayer that we would all leave together,

no heartbroken left behind.

I remember the ground that took you.

I refuse to think of what followed

after I was sent with an armed escort

to reveal where the little ones were hidden—

so we could all be killed.

✦

I refuse it—

the torture

your clothes stripped.

Oh how I wish

time had broken there—

before they reached you.

♡

Nkeke—my older brother, my protector—

beaten with wires, your face bloodied,

above the mass grave

that waited for you and Mama.

Did they let you both

breathe your last

before the pit?

♡

Magnifique—

my little sister,

gentle and bright—

a blade at your throat,

among the first taken in our village.

✦

Mama and Papa—

We did not see you grow old.

Did not watch the years settle into your faces,

did not stand inside the warmth

of the smiles that once filled our home.

The God you taught us,

Has carried us—

until we see you again,

in a life that knows no sorrow!

✦

The four of us carry you.

Every day—

in joy and in the fight,

in success and in trials—

you are here,

a cloud of witnesses.

✦

Years pass by,

grief remains.

We have learned to live with it.

Oh how I wish

it had softened with time.

The questions stay.

No one to answer.

How do I say this

to those who come after us—

Your last born—

her memory of you is a trace.

And one day—

she will be asked.

✦

Today and all our days—

we grieve,

we honor,

our memories of you are intact—

in the lives we have built,

in the strength that goes before us,

in the fiercest love that remains—

with pride,

with remembrance,

with faith unshaken,

with a legacy that continues to rise.


We will see through what you started!

♡♡♡♡

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Reveleation 21.4