Djembe Drum Beat

by Debbie Amirault Camelin

He placed his brown hand over mine

stopped my rhythm-less banging

and pulled the drum away

to cradle in his legs

and caress the taunt skin

of the carved conical drum

comforting it against my assault.

I folded my hands in my lap

the proper lady thing to do

when defeat feels imminent.

I offered, "There is a rhythm in me

but it’s buried deep."

"Very deep", he assured me.

We continued the lesson

left hand gradually grasping the beatright hand perfectly tone-deaf.

This poem really stuck out to me. It will always stay in my mind for ever when I think about genocide. The daruf people had a normal life style until everything was being controlled over. I believe that people need to realize that we are just as equal. We need to understand that genocide is a serious. It takes everything that we thought to be true into terror. The Daruf people knew that they didn't do anything wrong. Why must the enemies think the opposite. Why do we continue to judge when we look at things differently. We must see what meets our own eyes and learn that we are just as equal. We should not think about the negative aspects that other ethnicity have.