In a conflict, the more sensible person should call for a negotiation, whoever that person is. Guns only call more guns.
Where the sunlight gives a dying kiss to the watery ripples
Of orange despair, my mind wanders like a lost soul.
Souls get trampled under dusty boots on the drying
Bahama grass, bent over and trying to recoil when
The foot leaves it; it has lots to say but its lips are sealed:
Children played here under hopeful stars yesterday,
While their crease-browed parents argued about the
Next stop in their journey to nowhere. The neighbours
Looked at their Cicam cloth on the floor in jealousy;
Theirs was bare soil, and little food for their brood.
Children sprayed bullets at soldiers yesterday
While their wide eyed friends laid in red cells,
Staring into the distance, avoiding the sight of
Brother hacking brother. The macabre sacrifice of Cain,
The macabre machination of Nagato Pain unleashing
Upon the calm Harmattan smoke-laden wind.
My mind wanders where hope and despair clash with rage.
Everybody's right in the painting. All that's left,
Are corpses, explosions, revenge, decapitations, and a
Government that threatens extermination of vermin
For foiling their plans of total control and greed
Makes you only vermin to be eradicated, cost what may
Come what may! Vermin is vermin even in a cradle.