Sunday, February 6, 2011


If they attack, by all means
Make the generations suffer, pour poison
Into their wells, pollute their wheatfields
So not even the rats will feel at home.

Kill their boys, rape their mothers,
Make slaves of their little girls.
War is ugly, so me, so you,
So dustbound. But if it must be, best

Come out on top, intact. Who knows? 
Heart-felt prayers; who knows
How deeds gain new perspective.

If you solemnly not to do it again
I’ll make them stop with the stones.
Lady, what’s it gonna be?

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