It Begins...
A sudden staccato crack of
gunfire sears the evening skies
Then a cacophonic chorus of
artillery and another baby dies
Warplanes screech across the
heavens, bombing all around,
Helicopter gun ships wheel
and clatter, strafing the innocents on the ground. For a civil war has erupted
without a word of warning, death, fear and avarice
herald this day’s dawning.
Soldiers (who once were
neighbours) advance firing small arms from their hips.
Slaughters’ hideous laughter
punctuated only when changing ammunition clips.
Homes, schools, and churches
destroyed, crops in the fields burnt, livestock perish.
Friends, family and loved
ones lost, there’s little left to cherish,
Save for the precious few
survivors that fortune chose to save
Plucked by providence’s
mercy, saved from a communal grave.
Towns and cities set ablaze
and laid to total waste,
Scattered belongings strewn
around, a testament to the haste
Of the people running wildly,
abject fear upon their face
To search in vain for
shelter, to find a safer place.
They look on helplessly as
their villages are swept aside
Tiny homes, whole communities
are crushed as this satanic ride,
The invaders war machine
rumbles on scorching all within its path
And no amount of prayers and
tears shall assuage its wrath.
But who hears the mournful
cries of this beleaguered nation?
Condemned by greed and
merciless hatred and war’s savage damnation?
Who’ll halt the invader in
his tracks and this entire carnage end?
Who’ll silence NOW the winds
of war and love and solace send?
The Kindly Soldier…
One town’s sole survivor, a
little girl under nine
Shuffles around
purposelessly, covered in battles grime,
Her thin plain clothes are
torn, raven tousled hair unkempt
Thirsty, cold, and hungry but
no anger does she vent.
She looks up imploringly
through dark and frightened eyes
Utterly lost and hopeless,
but not a word she cries
Then, clutching her last
possession, a mutilated rag doll
She reaches out her hand in
hope and I take it willingly in mine.
She tightly held my kindly
hand and walked slowly by my side
We watched as waves of
refugees trudged by, an ever-swelling tide
Though she scarcely took her
eyes from mine, she wouldn’t speak a word,
Her experiences so private
she’ll not let them be heard.
And though slowly life begins
again (as does the singing of the birds)
Lonely flowers reach up for
sunlight and in a little while
The little girl without a
name permits a fleeting smile.
(But as vivid as those
battered flowers she remembers... that vile staccato crack of gunfire
searing the evening skies
And the chorus of Satan’s
armoury as another baby dies)
Ceasefire…
Envoys come and envoys go, a
fragile truce achieved
Now the fight is on for
solace, comforting those bereaved
Comforting those whose lives
are wrecked, those who know just grief
For those who have lost
everything, kind words bring no relief
Aid workers toil for hour
upon hour
Through the burnt-out towns
and villages, they scour…
Seeking out the injured, the
afraid and dour
And bring them to Field Hospitals, a tenuous safe bower.
Now civilian helicopters
whirl around
Placing passengers on the
ground
Television crews, reporters
all the worlds’ press crowd
The remaining vestiges of the
victims, short time ago so proud.
Microphones are thrust
towards poor bandaged faces
The journalists all demand
their stories (no time here for airs and graces)
All the sad tales of loved
ones lost, the details of carnage harsh and gory
Revelling in the despondency
the press in all their glory
Beam their broadcasts around
the world
To a pious public, safe and
sound, in front of television curled
As the news of untold horror
is dramatically unfurled.
But for the time being the
ceasefire holds firm
Refugees leave their
encampments and prepare to return
To their burnt-out piles of
rubble that they once called home
Back to ancient homelands
they reluctantly roam
Just in time for those winter
winds that whistle and moan….
*********************************************************
Very soon the pressmen pack
up to leave
Their stories no longer
topical (or so they believe)
Hurriedly erected satellite
dishes all now disappear
The worlds’ fickle audience
no longer lend their ear
For their attention has been
so quickly diverted to another tragedy, all too soon forgotten this
poor nation’s malady...
Dangerously too is forgotten
the evil war lords pledged ambition,
To inflict once more
violence, death, and attrition
And soon they make ready and
of their own volition
Vampire-like they’ll strike
again at a people still stricken
With anguish cold fear, empty
hearts, doleful derision.
And so, the conflict
continues though its intensity wanes and waxes
The futility of it all never
lessens, never relaxes.
And while “allies” continue to
supply either side with numerable tools of hate,
No lasting peace shall ever
ensue nor shall suffering abate.
The Kindly Soldier is redeployed…
And so, finally I settle her
down with a foster family new
Reluctant at first to leave
me but as her confidence grew
She slips her hand away from
mine, fresh new adventures to pursue…
I never saw that child again,
I never said goodbye
I never kissed that tender
cheek; she never saw me cry…
I turned and walked away not
daring to look back
Wondering if the ever the
enemy would return once more to attack….
And then suddenly, a familiar staccato crack of gunfire
sears across the sky...
And I think back in abject horror of the child I may
have left to die…
Footnote:
The idea of this piece of
work was to create a fictitious civil war through an imaginary microscope and
to observe the effects upon a community.
The shorter verses allude to
switching to a greater degree of magnification to observe one fragile innocent
child and how her private world had been so cruelly destroyed and how indeed in
the end her own life may have been lost. I left her fate to the imagination.
I did not intend to focus on
any particular theatre of armed operation or specific location however it does
have resonance with the Balkans conflict and many people have likened the work
to that conflict.
It could of course have been
anywhere. Civil wars transcend race, fame and fortune and nationality barriers.
Christopher J Green
February 1992
