It was there on the Square.
It happened on the Day.
But they say it was not;
they say it is a fabrication.
I look around for my companions.
They used to be multitudes,
but nowhere to be seen at the moment.
The Day comes again.
I go back to the Square,
looking for signs of the atrocity,
but not even a stain can be found.
Watched under the countless eyes, man's and man made,
the "sacred" place reflects the neon lights of flourishes.
Authoritarian muscles are shown everywhere,
ready to spring as soon as someone dares to.
Surely, they have been enboldened by the bloodbath on that day.
The heinous voice follows me wherever I go,
echoed by the silence of the smart and adaptive.
"It is none of our business," the smarties say,
"Relax and be flexible;
let bygones be bygones."
Oh, ugly things should not stay;
memory can be erased and reset.
In despair as I am,
I extend my vision to the Square afar,
where the candle lights can still be seen.
The flickering lights are tiny and dim,
but are shining in the deepest night.
People, though weary, struggle to keep alive the candle lights.
Oh, give us liberty or die!
But the voice chases them along to the Victoria Park.
"You are riotors, traitors, and roaches,
deserved to be nipped, tramped, and crushed."
Is the day coming again that the tragedy would repeat?
I cry out to the Almighty:
They destroy lives and walk away;
they cover up the bloody facts
to make them no longer matter.
It seems working that way for these years of thirty and one.
Help me, oh Lord, for my strength runs out, my memory is fading.
The Almighty ensures me, as always:
He sees the trouble of the afflicted.
He reveals the deepest things of the darkness.
Everything is to expose under His Light,
For He who avenges blood remembers.
Therefore, lift up our head, clench our fists, muster our strength.
Murmuring a tale of the two Squares,
we are here in deafening silence, patiently waiting,
till He comes with Justice.
For HK, May 35th, 2020