Devoid of colour, blind ink licking round vision

 to tar the eyes and misguide the traveller.

Writing its lies and sprouting its black horns.

 

Picking the words, it would not let you see

and took you to a fiery street of malicious, misconstrued facts.

Facts, blatant and treacherous of non-existent weapons of destruction.

Of threats to your home and a hundred reasons to make you dread

some far-off place, where people bartered for melons and chuckled to their children.

 

Into the sticky blackness of missiles, gas, grenades, automatic rifles, boots, tanks,

Invasion, lies, deceit and a man found in a hole like a rabbit running scared.

 

Then came the maelstrom, flying, thickening, grey and putrid.

The gaps were filled with extremism, greed, power crazed with oil.

Oil in the swirling tunnel, splattering the sight until it shone, jet and glistening.

 

People moved in traffic queues to escape.

To find some peace, but peace never came, even when the bullets stopped,

Peace took its banner and fled too; it could never give them their children back.

It could never clean up the bitter taste of hate, vengeance and hopelessness.

It could not see amidst the swirling hands that took its throat at every reconciliation.

 

But between the brittle shards, some asked for justice, some asked for compassion,

Some came with blankets, sheets and food. Some questioned, some protested,

Some stabbed at the law and made its belly wobble, some shone a light into

The pitch-dark eye and made it blink. They lighted up the vile orb, probing,

to make it remember, lest we forget.