Cry Rwanda
Still hanging by a slim thread of hope
Slowly swinging
Suspended between an unthinkable past
And an inconceivable future.
What will become of you?

Cry Rwanda
Head in your hands
Still perplexed by what you did,
By what you didn’t do.
This young tree under which you have found shelter today
Is too small to give you shade
Too big to move beyond.
Beyond to the howling unknown
Where lurching giants, with haunted eyes
That have seen so much but know too little,
Still stalk the dark night.

Cry Rwanda
Who will comfort you?
Who can give you words to wing your way to your future?
Who will fight for you?
Who can wield a sharp steel blade
Able to excise these phantoms of the mind?

Don’t cry Rwanda,
There is a sword,
The sword of the Spirit
Wielded by Angels
Turning and turning every which way
And there is a Word, the Living Word,
The deafening shout of the voice of God
Making a way where there is no way
Past the forests, the lakes and rivers
And a thousand mist draped hills
To meet your bright future, made without hands,
Shining in the sun,
Coming down out of heaven from God

It’s architect and builder is the Almighty
And you shall be His people
And He shall be your God

Don’t cry Rwanda.