A bloodstained cloth

I found a cloth,
stained and old,
buried in my backyard,
yearning to be found,
stained in blood,
a shirt,
with cuts in the back,
suggesting a lethal wound,
suggesting a crime,
suggesting a dead man,
A rebel,
A legend,
Wait !!!
I found others,
a pile of clothes,
stained and holed.
.
Wait !!!
for I suspect treachery,
I see no bodies,
I expected a skeleton,
the hole in the shirt,
it’s a window to past,
a horrible past,
one with bullets and deaths,
an unbelievable past,
Shall I believe it?
while books tell me otherwise,
While history taught to me,
sings proudly,
tales of peace and justice.
.
What is truth??
The absent skeletons,
the blood on clothes
or the history I know.
Who were the killers?
those who held the knives.
Did someone write,
about the death and dead
or the fear took him,
Someone was there,
with an eraser,
erasing all this,
Finally killing the dead.
.
I know it,
past changes,
deads are killed,
But what for ??????
I don’t know,
maybe because of this,
they were killed again,
to fool me with comfort,
with tales of glory and peace.
Don’t ask me,
ask the Rulers,
the writers
Or these bloodstained holes.

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