(N.B.⚠️ Writer’s Warning
This poem explores the recurring cycles of human cruelty and historical tragedy. It references real events such as genocide, slavery, and war, which may be emotionally difficult or triggering for some readers.
The intent is not to sensationalise suffering, but to confront the reality of history’s repetition and to call for awareness, memory, and change. Readers are encouraged to approach with sensitivity, reflection, and an understanding that the poem seeks to inspire responsibility rather than despair.)
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History was born the moment people were born.
Like fashion trends, we spin and mourn— a constant cycle, rinse and repeat, like clothes in a washer, tumbling to the beat.
The young grow old, the old fade to song, time turns the wheel, the cycle spins strong.
Life and history: a tumultuous sea, as frosty as tundra, cold destiny. Two sides of a coin, paradox bound, trapped in a circle that spins round and round.
Never again. A phrase, thin tissue, fragile and torn, used by the books, recycled, worn. An eternal play, painted grey, bleached in white, rehearsed each day. Rinse–dry–repeat, the endless refrain, like a runner who trains, yet runs in vain.
Never again.
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE SAID IT!
The Transatlantic slave trade.
The Eastern European slave raids.
The Rwandan Genocide, 1994.
The Holocaust in Germany
The Darfur Genocide—blood and war.
One of many tragedies, forgotten, replayed, memory fades, yet cruelty stayed.
Humans are painters: roses turned black, ponds dyed green, truth twisted back. History altered, forgotten, erased, copied and pasted, reshaped, replaced.
Human cruelty is not new. The problems we face are old, too… histories dressed in glitter’s disguise, but mould creeps beneath, rot never dies.
Tragedies like these, the ones we face today, stem from the core of history’s decay. Undocumented, lost in the banks of our mind, locked away forever, no key to find.
Never again. But to change, one must take the first stride, step from the cycle, walk outside.
It is not to blame the future for the past, but to build a tomorrow that outlasts.
History was born the moment people were born.
Like fashion trends, we spin and mourn— a constant cycle, rinse and repeat, like clothes in a washer, tumbling to the beat.
The young grow old, the old fade to song, time turns the wheel, the cycle spins strong.
Life and history: a tumultuous sea, as frosty as tundra, cold destiny. Two sides of a coin, paradox bound, trapped in a circle that spins round and round.
Never again. A phrase, thin tissue, fragile and torn, used by the books, recycled, worn. An eternal play, painted grey, bleached in white, rehearsed each day. Rinse–dry–repeat, the endless refrain, like a runner who trains, yet runs in vain.
Never again.
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE SAID IT!
The Transatlantic slave trade.
The Eastern European slave raids.
The Rwandan Genocide, 1994.
The Holocaust in Germany
The Darfur Genocide—blood and war.
One of many tragedies, forgotten, replayed, memory fades, yet cruelty stayed.
Humans are painters: roses turned black, ponds dyed green, truth twisted back. History altered, forgotten, erased, copied and pasted, reshaped, replaced.
Human cruelty is not new. The problems we face are old, too… histories dressed in glitter’s disguise, but mould creeps beneath, rot never dies.
Tragedies like these, the ones we face today, stem from the core of history’s decay. Undocumented, lost in the banks of our mind, locked away forever, no key to find.
Never again. But to change, one must take the first stride, step from the cycle, walk outside.
It is not to blame the future for the past, but to build a tomorrow that outlasts.
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