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The twenty sank exhausted to the ground.
'Get up!' The naked swords flickered like snakes.
Then someone fetched a pitcher of kerosene.
Human justice, I spit in your face.
Without delay the twenty were anointed.
'Dance!' Roared the mob; 'This is sweeter than the perfumes of Arabia!'
They touched the naked women with a torch.
And there were dancing.  The charred bodies rolled.
In shock I slammed my shutters like a storm,
Turned to the one gone, asked, 'These eyes of mine--
How shall I dig them out, how shall I, how?'

--from the armenian of siamento [atom ergoyan] 1878 -1915
[epigraph to fredy nepturne (1999; fsg) by les murray]