What a horrible year
To be an Armenian in Armenia,
Meant you were no good,
Our faith was worthless
And we must be exterminated.

The Turks invaded
Killing over a million of us,
Like we were nothing
But useless garbage
That you would throw away.
We were forced to flee our homes
To stay alive. Families were separated,
But the murderers didn’t care,
All they did was leave us to die bare.

As I lay in the dirt, cold and alone,
I see nothing but darkness, hearing the weeps,
Multiple shots, stabs, and people being taken away.
Just like my mother.

I look up once more to see
A shooting star moving with the wind.
A voice in my head whispers,
Faith will guide you home.
The genocide will soon be over,
Leaving us with our Christian faith.

As I followed the wind,
I was guided across the Atlantic
To set my disheveled, callused feet
On glorious new ground.
Ellis Island opened a new world,
As I reunited with my brother,
And began a new generation.

The merciless massacre is over.
Armenia has diminished,
And been removed from
The Ottoman Empire.

It’s 1922. Wonders of the day still crowd my mind,
Imagining where my mother might be.
As I hear the wind sing
I feel her presence with me,
Haunted by the ever lasting sadness,
That I am no longer going home.