These timeless scenes of war,
of the people leaving their homes,
the columns of soldiers and tanks
and the rubble left by the shells —
it scarcely even matters
what color the uniforms are,
you could substitute yellowed photos
a hundred years old or more,
and no one would know the difference.
Human anger, reaching its limit,
spills over in scenes like this,
warriors and innocent victims
and somewhere, hidden in buildings,
the ones who conceived the slaughter.
The pictures we see remind us,
all those in our human lineage,
how fragile are our encampments,
how tender the threads of home,
a neighborhood where we can walk
and a room to sit down for a meal.
All we who are living witness
say a prayer for the suffering victims
and a thanks for a safe, warm bed,
and cry for this human condition
of transience upon the earth.
There, but for Grace, do we go.
PS; I read it again. Three times more and it kicks and I feel ashamed, on behalf of the lack of humanity.
It's that overwhelming sense of hopelessness, you capture it beautifully. It tortures me.
I knew that I could count on a cool-headed piece and you provide it well. This is a 'saying-it-as-it-is' piece Max. It flows well and each word has a life. I always recall the slogan of the German Socialist, Karl Liebernicht: 'Capitalism or Barbarism? ' I still think it is pertinent. But is what is happening in the Middle East any more or less barbarous than what was inflicted, by the West on the Balkans and Iraq. I don't think so. I can say this though. In response to Tara's comment, it is this sort of thing (this poem) that raises my love for humanity.
It really is the only thing that matters, isn't it? We never learn. Debbie Kean
Yes...this is a piece that you would read again...slowly the second time....and rue over the hopelessness...there are some things which never change in time...and this is one of them....it could be any century...any color...anyplace on earth...Man will never ever learn. Thanks for sharing...Ray
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hell, Max. Humility. The anger in this so finely expressed. If only the 'leaders' could and would do the same. Superb - and haunting. t x