Three Fell

Silent witnesses on the crag.

The silence of three dead
turned oak trees
with thousands of palm-sized hands

bark thicker than the mysteries of time
by rocky crags.

Three men fell
pierced by bullets or arrows

Supposedly their blood ran into the salty waters

Of them nothing remains
not their names
their dates of birth
their origins

Only a poem
a painting
of the impressions of their existence

upon the walls
of Fort Henry James.

A poem by Pemba Umoja