Suicide Bomber

It was a horrible way to die - suicide.

‘Mindless terror,’ said the spokesman, flipping the rhetoric switch.

‘Babies killed,’ said the papers, not bothering to think.

‘Doesn’t solve anything,’ said the President and Prime Minister, walking away.

Strange, I said to myself, looking at the paper again,
Trying to read between the lines and imagining:

A refugee camp, concrete huts, garbage, rats
And a horde of men with knives and guns
Given free rein to kill -
The screams of the dying.

A child throwing stones,
A feeble, futile blow at the invader,
Picked off by a sniper’s bullet -
Blood seeping into the sand.

Grit, dust, despair and corruption,
Hopelessness,
A hell-hole of disintegration,
Slow annhilation.

‘Good against evil,’ said the spokesman smugly,
Baffled that anyone could question such a world view:

Rich against poor, armed against unarmed,
Slow terror against fast terror,
Zeolot against fanatic.

I see no compassion from the strong to the weak,
Unless to show superiority.

Yes, I thought, if this was my land, and my people,
I too would look to a God for my salvation,
And then turn myself into a human bomb.

As ye sow, so shall ye reap :
How can anyone be so foolish as to be surprised by it all ?