Oh such a sad story
I tell
Of How in the spring
They bombed our factories
And suppertimes
Our conversations
Our embraces
They bombed our weddings
Our hearts
Flowers and orphanages
They smashed the face
Of our children
With their own tears
And during our weeping
They urinated into the sun
Kicked a wounded moon
They raped the sea
With fire and poison
Woke up in everybody’s dreams
With grenades
Impaled us with fear
Now we’ve come home
From being dead
Left still with only
A language of dust
Bedded down amongst
The rubble and prayers.
.
Malcolm Paul
.