Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Mubashir - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The name's Mubashir, he was only five.
They said he'd grow up like the rest of Allah's men.
To keep our western human culture well alive,
we'd have to wipe them out no later than
the first night after Ramadan begins.
Remember Jesus died for OUR sins.

A plan was hatched that in Baghdad
all people would be wired for big sound.
Too bad - they'll wish they'd never ever had
with modern rifles fired the decisive round.

So, all the wires were in constant touch by air
with a device called 'OurWayToHell'.
The president himself had found it just and fair
to use this one, this giant mother of a shell.

Unknown to all and sundry was the potent trivia
that our hero was the colonel's son.
Who had not made it general because Olivia,
his wife, was dark from the oriental sun.

'So, screw the Arabs! ', all the soldiers screamed.
'And burn the turbans and their checkered rags! '
It's quite unclear, and no one knew why all this seamed
to be unchristian. It would fill more bodybags.

Disgust welled up at dark and covered faces,
at bodies wrapped in giant Hessian bags.
Though many soldiers didn't hesitate to untie laces
to really screw the females and the fags.

I notice that they don't much talk of glory
in modern warfare, out on the battlefield.
Is it because they've turned extremely gory
and that the final outcome is no human yield?

On the morning of the day before,
Mubashir was out in his big back yard.
Playing, with his brother, AMMOSTORE.
In front was stationed -chewing gum - his guard.

When the bird of paradise let out a cry
as to announce, while flying ever faster
into the slowly dark'ning Muslim sky,
to get away from mankind's last disaster.

They energised the wires by remote,
and every single limb and eye and hand,
to Allah went the people, even all their goats.
The bigger parts were buried in the sand.

Outside the city, at the colonel's den
some fall-out had occurred and hit the boy.
The guard was on a high speed chase right then
to hospital, Mubashir clutching toys.

The Yankee Building stood in all its beauty.
And ambulances were seen flying in.
They got there, pushed aside the guard on duty.
The waiting mother was the next of kin.

The ER doors flew open and they stormed inside,
and the soldier dropped Mubashir on the bed.
When they looked his pupils had gone very wide.
And on the trolley lay Mubashir,
he was dead.

Now it so happened that the big Kahuna,
he and the other Gods had been quite fond
of this delightful boy who so much sooner
than he should have, went to his beyond.

So, they had the shortest, quickest meeting.
All agreed this bucket had been filled.
They ignited a device - a final greeting
and then they had the whole of mankind killed.


Comments about Mubashir by Herbert Nehrlich

  • (12/7/2004 8:15:00 AM)


    Classical eye on current events. Excellent! (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: culture, soldier, hero, mother, people, dark, brother, city, son, remember, beauty, sky, sun



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 7, 2004

Poem Edited: Friday, April 29, 2005


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