Boring History

My friends used to tell

History is boring

It kind of is.

It kind of is when –

It’s not our story.

Depends on who we are.

Once people bled when wars were waged


Riots burned children alive-some not yet born

Revolutions taught to hate and love

Refugees fled from their ravaged mother-

Let my family, my children survive-All they could say-Mercy.

Then Time

Then more new events to remember and feel

The old pains were too old

Some people died in wars – their families cried

Over and over again tears dry out to nothingness, OR,

Just, Just some lines, in some Dry Story-

Who knows if it’s still all truth.

Pains and love of just one man- who has been just one man

They are lost even to him, as he lives

Pains and love of Us- well depends on who is Us.

We call us Indian?

Europe’s History is not ours?

When Red Indians die, when Armenians are killed

We sleep in peace?

Stories of the Baloch, Chinese, Somalis

Not ours?

We call us British? Jew, Muslim, Hindu


And only that, that and that only?

What if,

We called us Humans

Or Ones of Earth

We the ones that died in Permian


Who lost all human wars


Who died and lived and loved and warred


Killed us so so many times

What if,

We were that we.

History would still be boring

We might live – with hopes to dream and act– just

Just a bit more wilder dreams.

Wilder , More Empathetic , Wiser

A History in creation, and Maybe

A History – a little less crimson.


Please check this out as well by Johnny, this reminded me of the civil war that made my grandparents refugees:

A woman. (english poetry)

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