I raise no kids.
Maybe I have cried
Over this or other things
For lack of fate or luck or mate.
But signs are telling me it’s best
Because around and ahead, among us,
I can hear the hiding horrors
Like a dog that senses earthquakes
Or hectic ants that hide from human antics
When the weather’s getting weird
Humid, tepid, fetid,
More than breaths of death.
You must have perceived this too.
If we just dare to walk up barefoot
Perhaps on wounded knees
We can sense the pounding prayers
Memories of massacres
And murder missions colonels command
From echoes swelling anarchy and chaos
Where a mother,
Tomorrow you, your son’s, whoever,
Swinging to and fro, singing on and on,
Hugs a baby back to birth.
She would try
As any parent would,
I just guess, from theories telling hearts,
For any child that has some fragile time to live.
But even tears would end up confiscated.
So hide the joys and fears betraying life
Live as if you’re dead.
For they are watching high above
With dumbo ears and eyes of eagles
Scattering the wars in guise of doves.
They will kill in ways of kindest kings,
As ancient colonels over ghosts of creeks,
Lying on trespassed thrones
Or cowardly wings of drones
Spilling lies and smashing flies and fellows
The heart of whom they weren’t born to speak.
Vultures and vandals and villains of virtues
That’s what they are
Learning their lessons of libel and lies
Their science of shame without a guilt
Barking loud as hounds of honour
Preaching like a teacher of torture.
Let them rave and hover over heads of ours
Deride the pride and hush the hurting heart
Trampled under hooves of high-tech heroes.
We will fight in proper times and lands and ways
And spoil their bliss, avoiding any spill of blood,
By hands of honour, that lets their farces fuelled.
We know their fire of fiercest forces finely tuned.
But what’s the point of fighting only weaker foes?
Our wisdom comes from none of any shams of men
For we have learnt from just the last of the Mohicans.