Exhausted by death, we took the car and drove
Away, past gut-torn children and the like -
The stricken hospital, top-heavy despots, dust.
Someone cried, and for a while the earth stood still.
Then on we rushed as sand got in our eyes,
Through states with something rotten at the heart
And effigies that stared with wrinkled lips,
And women crying over families spent,
And gunned-through houses, doors and windows, gone.
And once a grimed-up pick up cut us up,
Tore past in clouds - Land Cruiser tyres churned -
And at the wheel a man's split-second face,
A turban and a beard, fanatic stare,
Long gone in dirt, but at that time,
We knew him to be mad. Then on we drove
To pastures new and sand dunes stretching miles.
At noon, a woman offered food, her children
Clustered round her, shut-up face. We left
Her scratching yet more dust, and sped into
The only sun, into a slap-up village where
The kids in rags kept up their pestering cries
Of hunger, sickness, want, disease, and pain
That stretched back years. They clawed the car,
Tore strands of air between their teeth and we
Were heart-struck at their noise.  By dusk
We headed out again – the clamour died -
Catching the western sun before it sank,
We disembarked and tucked it up in bed,
Knowing ourselves at home, and finally
Slept at last where it was warm and dark.