Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/h1>\n<\/h2>\nby Samira JaJi<\/span><\/h2>\n\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-content\/uploads\/child-soldier-4.28-CPR-300x300.jpg\")
Featured Photo: cc\/(AdrianHillman, photo ID: 26239379, from iStock by Getty Images)<\/p><\/div>\n
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n![\"0,,16375734_303,00\"](\"https:\/\/iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-content\/uploads\/016375734_30300.jpg\")
<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n![\"20121116102738613734_20\"](\"https:\/\/iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-content\/uploads\/20121116102738613734_20.jpg\")
<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n![\"SIMIRA](\"https:\/\/iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-content\/uploads\/SIMIRA-2-p8-300x200.jpg\")
<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
by Samira JaJi<\/span><\/h2>\n\n
Featured Photo: cc\/(AdrianHillman, photo ID: 26239379, from iStock by Getty Images)<\/p><\/div>\n
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Featured Photo: cc\/(AdrianHillman, photo ID: 26239379, from iStock by Getty Images)<\/p><\/div>\n
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
<\/h1>\nI used to be good with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
I used to do good with my hands<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
I loved to play the drums<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nCarefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nUntil one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u00a0They found us in our home \u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWindows boarded up and doors sealed <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nWe tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
We tried to conceal ourselves\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
But they found us anyway <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey amused themselves for a little while, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Tormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nTheir conductor then forced me to play a solo <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
So I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nFrom which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nDRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nThey beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nHANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMy spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nMorality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAs I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSet fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBurned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nRaped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBroke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\nMaking them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIntense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nIt was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nI used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nLike indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nSo I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nBut if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nAnd had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\nNot with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nSUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n@Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n@Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n SUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY<\/strong><\/p>\n @Ifo<\/span>rcoIo<\/span>r.org<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n @Samira JaJi 2015<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER \u00a0\u00a0 by Samira JaJi I used to be good with my hands I used to do good with my hands \u00a0 I loved to play the drums Carefree beats and melodies inspired by\u00a0my beautiful homeland Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":363,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=433"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/433\/revisions\/944"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}} I CUT<\/span>, skin deep <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
DRIP<\/span>, drop blood <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
SNAP<\/span>, crack bones <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
RIP<\/span>, tear flesh <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
They beg, scream, shout <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\nThe blade scrapes table <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
HANDS<\/span> hit ground <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
I witnessed them SHOT<\/span>, point blank<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
My spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Morality and I became estranged <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
As I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Set fire to villages <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Burned bodies <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Raped, pillaged, <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Broke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
And I cut their pleading hands off<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n
<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/h2>\n
Making them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Intense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
It was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
I looked down at my hands, they had turned red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
I used to do good, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Like indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
So I try to do better, with my hands <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
But if not for this war that has torn my land <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
And had I just a bit of<\/span> opportunity, can you imagine what I could\u2019ve done\u2026 <\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
Not with my hands, but with my mind.<\/span><\/strong><\/h1>\n
<\/strong><\/p>\n