The Weeping Moon
Witnessing the blood baths, the massacre
Of God’s people, children’s bodies everywhere,
And octogenarians expire slowly and quietly in horror.
The undistorted and the vivid images of terror,
The ugly realities of life for millions; what a rancor!
The large plumes of gray phosphorus smoke! There is nowhere
To hide. Showers of shrapnel, unprecedented heavy shellings,
White clouds of death and discriminating lynchings
Of everything that breathes, walks, runs and flies;
This is war, this is sheer terrorism! The God-flies;
Where are they when they are needed?
Our world should not be so muted,
So insensitive toward so many.
This is a shameful disaster, a pity…
To do nothing and hope for the awakening of the gods;
The worms, the flies, the rats and the tods
Must be happy. What an inhumane feast!
In this young century, we cannot find Peace.
The photos are real, and dying is not a joke.
The lenses of the camera recorded the blood soaked
Pregnant women, their babies shredded
By the wrecked fires of the big guns.
No one is spared: fathers, mothers, sons,
And even young girls are arrested,
Humiliated, stepped on and eventually annihilated.
This is the state of our human family.
Centuries old victims are now the perpetrated
Beasts that devour nymphs, angels and dignity.
The moon can only helplessly weep,
The gods and the geese are high by the burning bodies.
Terrorism is your vocation; falling asleep,
Amid this, is criminal, we should unequivocally denounce the bullies.
Big gun shipped helicopters can only destroy; they don’t make Peace,
H bombs only create more activists, more militants and more beasts.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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