One Word, Two Meanings

Flour or blood?
Sea or killing spot?
One word, two meanings. 
To live, to die
At the same time.

Schools became shelters
For people and massacres.
Homes folded into unsettled tents.
Dreams dissolved into dust.
Is this all in my head?

I open my eyes
Slowly.
I wash my face.
Once. 
Twice.
Sacks of flour, 
Soaked in blood
Are before me. 
Body parts 
In plastic bags,
I see.
I pinch my cheek 
To wake up.
It's still the same.
It won’t vanish,
Glued in my head.

I rub my eyes 
To clear the blurred vision. 
Still here. Still real.
Hospitals with no medicine. 
The wounded on the floor.
Waterless faucets.
Markets with empty shelves.
Martyrs with no grave.
Infants with no milk. 
I knock on my head.
Did this really happen?

Only in my dreams,
Do I see my former, authentic self;
I behold things with their original meanings,
Not what Genocide brutally invented,
Not how Genocide distorted the language.
My language.
Our words
Our phrases
Are wrested from us
Belong now to bloody things.

Words feel alien.
I recite many of them:
School
Hospital
Stall
Home
Tent…
All I hear is 
MASSCARE
MASSACRE
MASSACRE
MASSACRE…
Are they all now one word?
Does this word alone 
With all of what it means
Faithfully,
Vividly 
convey our realm?
Why do they no longer mean 
What they meant when I was a child?
Why doesn’t a child 
Recognize 
The first meanings of things?
Why is a child now
Deprived of knowing
The first, original meaning of things?

Why now
Do all words
Hold only death?