May 2012
Do not shout, or else, I will shoot,
My voice rings out loudly, surprising me too,
I wield my gun, my little black toy,
I know for sure, what magic it can do.
My friend signals me to enter the cockpit,
I feel menacing, but I know my mission,
With some help from my friend, we seize control,
Everything is going as planned, he tells me, giving me the honor of a promising fighter.
Yes, fighter I am, a fighter for the good.
And for goodness to reign, do we not have to finish the bad?
My teachers and my leaders have taught me the distinction between the evil and the holy,
And today, I stand, to accomplish the most prime task on our hands.
The plane has been hijacked, and we are on track,
It is our own toy now, and the game is, to take lives…
This plane is our missile, and our target-the oppressors,
Those killers who deserve to be beheaded alive.
Our toy will now crash into another one, this time, a huge building,
And we will lead to the fall of those wicked souls.
Malice will shriek, and shout in despair,
And victory will be ours, and ours alone.
This is the moment, where the excitement of the game begins,
We are flying at breakneck speed, bracing ourselves to witness our triumph,
My heart beats fast, and my blood flows faster, but then suddenly…
I hear someone’s voice screech into a wail…
I run to see where the sound comes from,
And I see a little child crying,
His head rests in the arms of another little girl,
Who rocks forwards and backwards, shouting, “brother, we are dying!”
We are dying…these words ring in my ears again and again….
We are dying…yes I too am going to, but is this not, part of our game?
We are dying…little girl, why cry, when our mission is about to be accomplished?
We are dying…no! these words are about to turn me insane!
I see innocence yelp in desperation,
And I realise what a killer I am,
For my own game, I am eliminating others’ lives…what have they done?
What right do I have then, to call my work holy, how can I say, that a fighter I am?
My other friends shout at me, that we are very near our target,
I look at them, their leering selves, and think of how they betrayed me,
I was their soldier, I worked in their army, but this was an army of killers!
their baseless philosophies, their gory ideals, had strayed me!
Somebody from the cockpit, shouts, that God has won, we have too,
But have we really won? How have we?
I know not, what God wants us to do…I just know, that he loves us all,
So how can we be triumphant, in killing the ones he loves?
It’s a matter of seconds, I can save no lives,
But I know, that I can die with realization instead of dying a killer’s death,
I am sorry for those who will lose their lives because of me,
I was simply ignorant, but I am still guilty, and my guilt has only one outlet…
My sweaty hands grasp my gun tightly,
I smile reassuringly at the crying boy,
Who I am helping by this action, I know not, but I am freeing my soul,
As I place on my very own forehead, the deadly mouth of my little black toy…
My voice rings out loudly, surprising me too,
I wield my gun, my little black toy,
I know for sure, what magic it can do.
My friend signals me to enter the cockpit,
I feel menacing, but I know my mission,
With some help from my friend, we seize control,
Everything is going as planned, he tells me, giving me the honor of a promising fighter.
Yes, fighter I am, a fighter for the good.
And for goodness to reign, do we not have to finish the bad?
My teachers and my leaders have taught me the distinction between the evil and the holy,
And today, I stand, to accomplish the most prime task on our hands.
The plane has been hijacked, and we are on track,
It is our own toy now, and the game is, to take lives…
This plane is our missile, and our target-the oppressors,
Those killers who deserve to be beheaded alive.
Our toy will now crash into another one, this time, a huge building,
And we will lead to the fall of those wicked souls.
Malice will shriek, and shout in despair,
And victory will be ours, and ours alone.
This is the moment, where the excitement of the game begins,
We are flying at breakneck speed, bracing ourselves to witness our triumph,
My heart beats fast, and my blood flows faster, but then suddenly…
I hear someone’s voice screech into a wail…
I run to see where the sound comes from,
And I see a little child crying,
His head rests in the arms of another little girl,
Who rocks forwards and backwards, shouting, “brother, we are dying!”
We are dying…these words ring in my ears again and again….
We are dying…yes I too am going to, but is this not, part of our game?
We are dying…little girl, why cry, when our mission is about to be accomplished?
We are dying…no! these words are about to turn me insane!
I see innocence yelp in desperation,
And I realise what a killer I am,
For my own game, I am eliminating others’ lives…what have they done?
What right do I have then, to call my work holy, how can I say, that a fighter I am?
My other friends shout at me, that we are very near our target,
I look at them, their leering selves, and think of how they betrayed me,
I was their soldier, I worked in their army, but this was an army of killers!
their baseless philosophies, their gory ideals, had strayed me!
Somebody from the cockpit, shouts, that God has won, we have too,
But have we really won? How have we?
I know not, what God wants us to do…I just know, that he loves us all,
So how can we be triumphant, in killing the ones he loves?
It’s a matter of seconds, I can save no lives,
But I know, that I can die with realization instead of dying a killer’s death,
I am sorry for those who will lose their lives because of me,
I was simply ignorant, but I am still guilty, and my guilt has only one outlet…
My sweaty hands grasp my gun tightly,
I smile reassuringly at the crying boy,
Who I am helping by this action, I know not, but I am freeing my soul,
As I place on my very own forehead, the deadly mouth of my little black toy…
