| I'm Tired of man's wars | | | | the dying much anymore, until they are dead. Facing |
| Tired of this world's Leaders | | | | death, the death you bring on in war, puts the warrior in |
| I stand facing blood crushed limbs | | | | a deep freeze, you don't see, hear what you are killing, |
| Of those I once knew as friends, | | | | you just kill the enemy, whomever they are, and for |
| In Somali's dark city | | | | whatever they've don. From the looks of things the |
| Where the Butchers Plague | | | | Somali city Kismayo is an open air, graveyard, where |
| Has come, to stay, and I must die. | | | | limbs and body parts are likened to an unkempt |
| Here, I became part of the dead: | | | | butcher's shop, or market place. |
| I harbor no delusions. | | | | I say to myself, and I have been in war, I don't want to |
| I once listen to the sounds of fish, | | | | die in some bloody city, in somebody's backyard, |
| Even of jumping frogs, in ponds. | | | | because someone, somewhere shot a anti-aircraft |
| I could fall to sleep at secluded waterfalls | | | | gun, and shot my legs off, then my arms, and he |
| In Venezuela's, Gran Sabana, | | | | doesn't know me, nor I him, and he will sleep well |
| Listen to its shroud' like veils | | | | tonight because the shock part of seeing the dead |
| Of pouring water...! | | | | you killed is nullified. Now comes the bullet to my head |
| It's what I gave up, sadly gave up, | | | | because someone a mile away decided to press |
| And weep as I write this poem | | | | some buttons. Or someone fifty-miles away wants to |
| Torn from my shell, I am one of those limbs | | | | have a wish come true--a power wish, and killing |
| The sweeper is sweeping up right now, | | | | people he doesn't know or will never see doesn't |
| Off the streets of a Somali port city, | | | | bother him, therefore, he will kill the whole city if need |
| If only I could have, | | | | be, he will simply just kill them for fun, if they get in the |
| Seen another autumn also...! | | | | war, in his way, and he will kill them if he cannot rule |
| #2472 8-23-2008 | | | | over them. It's not a new way of thinking, matter of |
| Note: There has been a three day battle, or war, part | | | | fact, it's pretty old, we just forogt it. |
| of an ongoing war, a period in Somali, where people | | | | Control is power, and nowadays, the new philosophy, |
| have been dying like flies, and it will soon be tucked | | | | or so it seems to be, is not so much to be rich, than to |
| away, in the writings of time, perhaps brought to | | | | be in control of those around you. And should a ruler |
| surface now and then down the road of life, but for | | | | not be, then he will kill and destroy everything, |
| the most part forgotten. Eighty-nine-people died, and | | | | something the USA does not understand, that being, |
| over two hundred wounded: mostly civilians, body | | | | the rulers of today, do not care if you starve their |
| parts stinking up the city's streets. When you are in | | | | people or country to death, as long as they can hold |
| war is one thing, one shoots out of a plane, or from a | | | | onto control, because they will eat anyways, and |
| distance he sends rockets your way, or the armor | | | | blame the rest of the world for their countries woes. If |
| comes in, and shoots it shells. Lives are taken in the | | | | they can't control it, they will destroy it. Again I say, it is |
| name of war, and progress, and all such silly things. | | | | a different kind of a bird that rules nowadays, more on |
| And the insurgents, be it Ethiopian or Islamic, or | | | | the peacock order. |
| Somalia's citizens in its capital, nobody, nowadays, sees | | | | |