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Click herethe Ks smatter up ahead
they take another route
to honour the not yet dead
that roar in dust echoes
under a zenith sun
diesel with get them this far
and then, the bite of being
left behind will flog them on
towards one last safe camp
nobody can remember
whose blade swung first,
which murder in the night
called who to arms,
which bullet struck where
or even why
but now he who delivered
cattle delivers lead, and he who
taught children their history
teach them they have no future
from sitting in rows,
to walking in lines
(That is Political with capital P) When so many conveniently hide in escapism, and poem for them is still: “your eyes are roses”.
And to mention painful reality is almost as bad as asking “how much do you make”.
So, I thank you for the evocative language. For the sense of senselessness.
Yet, I do not see eye to eye with all that you said. That’s ok though. You spoke your truth. In my war every one remembered “whose blade swung first”. And back today, I think that most do too.
One more thing, I don’t think that there is such a leap between “Sitting in rows” and “Walking in lines”…At least as far as my school days are taken into account.
...give a strong poem a powerful finish. Great work.
this poem is mentioned in the thread 'New Poems Reviews'
(~_~)