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This poem is about
The impossibility of writing
A poem about the war
Now don't go getting disappointed
You probably know everything
You really need to know
About the war
There's nothing more a poem could tell
Than what's in the lines of the dailies
That you read between so carefully
Nothing I could show you
That you haven't seen already
In your nightmare dreams or when
Your eyes are open
Nor could I shed enlightenment
On all the things we may not be
At liberty to mention
The silent tortured prisoners
Assassinations, smears and lies
And all the secret crimes
You know are passing by
There are some more events of war
Give me a minute to recall
I'm a little sleep-deprived
I learned with snakes and scorpions
Don't threaten them or step on them
It works with all kinds of people too
I know there is no other side
Everyone is born a child
The other side is only in the mind
I hear justice is on our side
It's somewhere here apparently
Check in your back pocket for me please
Well if it could, the poem would claim -
Before the subject's forced to change -
That peace is firmly on our side
Peace, well there's a useful thought.
I'm sure that we all could run with that.
This is no more a poem
About a poem about the war.
Frank Bana
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