Photo courtesy of Independent
Nobody will mourn you, tyrant, when you’re gone,
when the coffin lowers into the grave. Nobody will
visit the memorial and there will need to be guards
placed on each corner to avoid some unpleasantness,
desecration of the holy word. The people will complain
as well about the cost of upkeep, and they will ask
what did you bring them besides national guilt
and shame? Yes, some are up in arms and defiant
about how well your army has broken enemy children,
their limbs, and mothers, just like they did
to our precious blood, the joy of disproportionate
revenge, all buildings crumbled, ash heaps of bones,
and the remaining muttering, terrified, civilians
gathered at the border waiting for no rescue ship
or plane. This has happened before, at Nandikadal,
on the Killing Fields, in Auschwitz where liberators
came a little too late, six million Jews and other
minorities butchered. In Gaza now, one in every
150 kids dead, from bombs, guns, murder. For what,
I ask along with the journalist, conveyor of news,
good and bad, truth unvarnished, bug-eyed, terrified,
wondering when the next airplane will fly
overhead and rain down its cargo on earth,
the unfortunate innocents in the target range?
When will the tyrant’s tomb be removed
from public view? Give me year, date,
cross-hairs of the inscription to be wiped away.