“Ethnic cleansing” is an hygienic phrase Which could have rolled off Joseph Goebbels' tongue. That Balkan soil from which the Great War sprung Still yields the crop of hatred neighbours raise. A Pole who twists the ******* in praise Swept Hani from the Boksburg social rung And still the scent of frangipani hung And clung like power while the townships blaze.
Was Nietzsche right when he said God was dead? Now whose redemption song can Marley sing? Why won't we see the hater suffers too? “Love” was the word Christ-Buddha-Allah said. Love fuelled the dream of Martin Luther King. God, forgive them, they know well what they do.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge Galloping On 4 (an anthology, Western Australia) in whose pages this poem first appeared.