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.