My People

Art Medium: Oil Pastels

My eyes tell a story

That only I can tell.

Stop for a blink in time

And my story, I will tell.

My people are a people

Made to feel, like you

My children, they are children…

Knowing not what to do.

My father was a peaceful man

My mother has laid to rest

And as the sun rises from the East,

Moving toward the west,

My people seek security

Yet famine claims our land

And on both sides,

Terror reigns

My son, he holds my hand

And asks me what he may eat today

What can I say? The earth is dry

My people are its inhabitants

Yet they know no more than I

We cannot know our future

For years, this has been our curse—

To live on scenic mountains

Then to die with little worth.

But thanks to God…sometimes the rain

Descends to quench the land

Seedlings grow and children know

Someone will hold their hand.

The “Ik”…they are my people

It is I who know them best

Yet I wonder…are we forgotten?

Only you can write the rest.