it was the tenth month of the war

It was the tenth month of the war
By Rino Palmani

It was in the tenth month of the war
when mortar blasts bloomed like sunflowers
Amongst the tents and the ammunition dumps
Soldiers shot full of weed, amphetamines and rage
Engaged like spastic colts in a ramshackle ballet
With assault rifles setting the staccato pulse of the dance
Of damned men. Their guns spitting orange bursts; bullets
Like demons' tongues spitting into the darkness.

Into the womb a crablike claw comes to snatch the boy
To scrape all innocence from his brain
The stars laugh, arrogant in their thrones-
They are safe for now:the killing hand of God is asleep.
There is a song wafting through the rose fields;
The song of a mermaid murdered on a boulder by a river.
Call for wine for the wounded healer.

How fast have these soldiers grown?
Yesterday the deathsong of a pig
Used to make them weep
Now they stab pregnant women without flinching.

But all this, all of this, took place in a foreign land
Where the wolf rises in the heart
Unhampered, unecumbered
Where the sting of death is cauterised
By turning bodies into numbers