They live…
In a world
where - in twists of faith
Wars witless,
wanton - germinate.
Where rent
asunder by treacherous nets
Of loyalties,
the cruel irony of bomber jets
Scorching out
guileless lives to quell genocide
Is lost - In a
babble of toxic bromide
Called
statecraft, or in slant sanctimony
Or saving your
skin or craving for vainglory.
We struggle…
To make sense
of a war where the hunted
No longer know
what they dread
More: the
hunter they must evade
Or the
‘helpers’ who must their skies raid
With unseeing
bombs that discern not
The hunter and
these, the hunted lot.
Hah! What’s a
bit more collateral
Damage- Arggh!
This grisly carousel!
To make room
-when these, the forlorn
With woeful
hope arrive, worn-
For debate.
Dry, cool, academic-
All this
acrimonious human arithmetic!
‘Hurt’ by
fleeing sparks and fading embers
Of distant
flames of your own timber!
No higher rage
than faith to fight turned
Nor a fury as a
spent ally scorn’d!
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