They came

Tuol Sleng
like a poisonous flower
exhaling
a piercing venom.

The palm trees swayed
beneath the faltering shadow,
a procession of bones

   —the dead—
labeled as intellectuals.

They came
like a gust of wind,
They came
like a herd of wild beasts.
They came
slaughter upon slaughter,
cursing Tuol Sleng,
damning its streets and rivers.

They regarded themselves as fanatical idealists,
But never, made the place a paradise.
Passion torched it into a fiery hell.

They came
with frantic lusts.
They came to Cambodia—
its flesh drenched in rouge.

When Tuol Sleng opened,
Moonlight buried people
in a sunken pit of earth.

None to cry those words:
   “ They came!”