Thursday, November 10, 2005

I Know Not Of Hatred

I see men jumping
Passion burning in their young veins
Yet I know not of such passion
Holy language spitted out in gallant pride
Do they speak of us?
Of one?
Or does their 'one' consists of them only?

The best, they scream
The strongest, they shout
Have they forgotten their families then?
As stomachs gutted, heads beheaded
Sobbings silenced
Blood ooze the Red Sea black?

I swallow my curse
Their shouts and screams slicing my conscience
With knives blackened by the fire of ignorance
Their joy provoking my anger
Their laughter strangling my peace

I know not of hatred
Until now.

0 poetic mutterings: