Young entrails, crisply pasted on the tarmac —
Shotgun shells, spinning on the other tarmac.
One, two, three — weren’t they meant to be rubber?
Teargas canisters, flung at our brothers.
Go fetch!
“I will make a bridge, a dam, a new tarmac.”
Go fetch!
Then our many lots are tossed to the gutters.
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 11:23 PM UTC
Young entrails, crisply pasted on the tarmac —
Shotgun shells, spinning on the other tarmac.
One, two, three — weren’t they meant to be rubber?
Teargas canisters, flung at our brothers.
Go fetch!
“I will make a bridge, a dam, a new tarmac.”
Go fetch!
Then our many lots are tossed to the gutters.
I weep for my and many countries
