The Merciful Killers
One hand raised and pressed
Against the roof door to give him balance
They kneel them down in a shaking state
A tender touching of the merciful killers
He drew pistol on his right hand
Hitting them on their backs
Before they could feel the touch of the metal
He pulls the trigger
And the bodies fall apart
In the halo of their own blood
Their bodies tumble
Smashed beyond mortality
Their ruined heads cradled by the burning sun.
Is this humanity?
First the only sound
Was the whirling of TV cameras
From the local BBC journalist
The grinding of sand
Rolling over the floor
The gathering of the indigenous
Came the wailing of thousands
Of people around
An endless scream of terror
The primal voice grew sharp
Hidden under the dark covers of horror
Executed by men in khaki
Tough men in a Dark Age
Old men and women
Looking in horror and loathing
With almost animal-like terror
Dead bodies caught in the red halo of dust
Bathing in their own pool of blood.
Is this humanity?
The erasure of primitive race
The triangle of assassination
From assassins
The traditional half-naked men and women
Holding spears and shields in vengeance
Aiming to fight the superior enemy
The enemy of modern world
Equipped with modern technology
The primitive men
Moved the bodies with sad tones and wailing
The internal cry from the once heroes
In traditional manhood
Paralyzed by the sudden terror.
Is this humanity?
- Kim Simon Jial
