The burning sun in frying
All the life below him-
Every day,
Without a stop.
Every day,
Without a sign of relief.
Hot wind is passing
Through the tall,fried palm-trees.
Their leaves flutter slowly.
They are almost dead. Barely alive.
Sounds of dropping bombs
Echo in the distance.
Dark smoke
Covers like a blanket the horizon.
Desperate muffled cries of agony
Cover the silence in between
The horrid sounds of the dropping bombs.
With a machine gun on his shoulder,
He marches with the others
Toward the fallen city
To capture and kill the barely-alive terrorists
And to aid the wounded civilians.
With a burning conscience,
With only prejudice toward his victims;
He marches with the others
Toward the fallen city.
Not knowing what's right of wrong,
At trial with his conscience,
Deep in thought,
He marches on
Toward the fallen city.
Feeling like a defendant on the stand,
The soldier answers to the questions,
His conscience, the most feared prosecutor,
Asks without hesitation.
Why did he kill them?
Why is he still killing?
Why does he find them inferior,
When they are just like him?
Why does he think they're all terrorists?
Why does he generalize?
Why does he hate them?
Why does he act like an animal,
Brutally killing,
Whether he's a terrorist or not?
"I had to kill them,
That is my mission!"
The soldier breathlessly declares.
"Oh really...That was your mission-
To kill the boy,
Though he was just seven!"
The tall and sharp prosecutor asks.
"But his father hurt my country.
It was only fair to cause him pain
By murdering his son.
And besides, they're all the same.
They have no thoughts,
They're just like sheep;
They follow their leaders blindlessly
Just because of their stupid Medieval traditions.
That's why they are inferior.
At least that's what the president is saying."
The soldier answers confidently.
But the conscience,
Once again attacks him
"Ignorance... So much ignorance...
You weren't like that when you were younger.
Remember when Timmy was beaten up in school
For being black?
Remember how you defended him,
Although you were white?
You,yourself told them,
That the whites aren't better than the blacks.
You,yourself defended him
You,yourself,alone!
Why is this different?
Why can't you understand?
Not all Muslims are bad.
Muslims aren't like that at all.
They are just like you.
They're human!
Don't generalize,
You hypocrite!
Generalizations are never true!"
Silence settles for a second.
"Please remember your human side.
Please forget the warrior one.
Just because they follow old tradition closely,
Doesn't make them wrong.
And please save your intelligence
By not mentioning the president."
The prosecutor slowly retreats.
The point was made.
The cards were played.
"But they do such awful things-"
The soldier starts his sentence.
"Not all, just a few.
Please try to understand them.
They're desperate they're poor.
It is our fault.
Imperialism and Colonialism
Destroyed their lives.
We were ignorant.
Now because of that,
We're starting a Third World War!"
Silence settles for a second.
"None of these reasons were good enough for what you've done.
You've not only ended that poor boy's life,
But you've taken many more in combat.
Those forever shall be very alive,
Deep inside your mind.
Those forever shall wake you up
Each time you try to fall asleep.
Those forever shall torture you,
Just as you tortured those poor souls
(Terrorists or not).
Those shall one day end your life,
Just you ended that boy's young life."
The prosecutor turned away
And became the judge.
His words were final.
The soldier's conscience shall never be clear.
The judge slowly disappears
And hides once more in his old place.
* * *
Tears fall upon the sand,
But disappearing as if they never existed.
"What I did was wrong.
I shouldn't have killed him.
I shouldn't have killed them.
I shouldn't have fired.
Heck! I shouldn't have joined the army
If being a soldier means being a murderer.
What a hypocrisy!
We judge them because they're killing innocent people.
We judge them because they hate Christians.
Yet we do exactly what they're doing!
We kill them; innocent or guilty.
We hate them because they're Muslims.
He, once again is thinking.
He wished to be back home,
Back home to safety,
Back home to his love,
Back home to his girlfriend.
Yet he is stuck-
He cannot fly over 1000 seas*
To be back home.
Tears fall upon the sand,
But disappearing as if they never existed.
The man is stuck,cornered.
He still has to be a soldier,
Against his will,
Against his conscience.
He cannot desert,
As he is in the dessert.
With a machine gun on his shoulder,
The man marches with the others
Toward the fallen city
To aid the victims,
Rather than to kill.
With a machine gun on his shoulder,
With a wounded soul in his chest,
He marches on with the others
Toward the fallen city.
*allusion to the song "1000 meere" by Tokio Hotel
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