WAR Poem: Even the Nile Remembers, by Ashri Gorte

“Even the Nile remembers.”

The Nile runs red
beneath the sky

where minarets weep
and mothers cry.

Not glory
but grief
inscribes this verse

a wound
a warning
a silent curse.

Brothers once bound
by flesh and flame

are scattered now
no names
no claim.

One buried deep
in Omdurman’s sand,

one vanished far
without a hand.

I curse the generals’
polished lies,

who strip the sun
from Nubian skies.

They drink from blood,
they starve the land,

while children fade
to dust
and sand.

Yet still I speak.
I carve their names

in lines of fire,
in verse,
in flames.

The generals’ throne
will one day fall

the Nile will rise
and cleanse it all.