War Chronicle / Peace Plea

  notes

Imam Zaid Shakir


Posted Posted on 2012-04-30

2 Comments

War Chronicle

How many babies will you kill?
Before you realize,
each time you kill an innocent
that it’s your heart that dies.

A way of life that’s steeped in blood
from sea to shining sea.
murder behind the veil of lies,
proclaimed as liberty.

The armies they go marching off
across the hills and plains.
destroying all before their path,
ignoring screams and pain.

Present the cause in noble words,
thus assuaged we can ignore,
atrocities, injustices,
the carnage and the gore.

Let’s drink to war, the glass raised high,
so fittingly we toast,
to celebrate the ravaged lands,
the scorched earths that we roast.

They’ve earned the ire of our empire,
towel heads and camel jocks.
So kill them all and watch them fall
before the awe and shock.

They are to blame so have no shame
each time you pull the trigger.
No sanctity afford their lives,
it’s just a dead sand nigger.

Strike up the band in foreign lands
the saints are marching in.
Send forth the tanks and Apaches
to purge them of their sins.

No honor are we to afford
to enemies so vile.
So urinate upon the dead
and do it with a smile.

The fresh young girls are there to rape
then burn the evidence,
perhaps this dose of Christian love
will force them to repent.

Let them reject their hateful creed.
Let them reform their ways.
As for ourselves we will repeat,
it’s war not crime that pays.

How many babies will you kill?
Before you realize,
each time you kill an innocent
that it’s your heart that dies.

Peace Plea

How many babies will you kill?
Before you realize,
each time you kill an innocent
that it’s your heart that dies.

Yet even hearts impervious
to suffering and pain,
can be revived just like the earth
God’s grace is like the rain.

When it flows forth over the land,
it nourishes the seeds,
embedded in the earth’s bosom
young seedlings smash the greed.

And then they grow to mighty trees,
whose leaves provide the shade
a place of rest for ravaged souls,
Beyond anger and rage.

Those trees they bear a bitter fruit,
that reaches war-torn hearts,
and slowly hatred dissipates,
more slowly healing starts.

The fruit transcends its bitterness,
sweet fragrance permeates
clearing eyes to realize,
there is no one to hate.

The foe we strove so hard to beat,
is seen to be none other,
An image of my tortured soul,
my sister or my brother.

The enemy that I now see,
that causes me such pain,
is just the fool inside of me,
used for another’s gain.

It is that foe I must defeat,
upon him alone I’ll trod,
denying Satan his service,
always remembering God.

This is the only path to peace,
a peace lasting and real;
a peace based on a simple word:
Mankind, thou shall not kill.

And with this word deeply engrained,
into our troubled souls,
that peace not war and life not death,
should be our cherished goal.

So now I see with vision clear,
the other has no blame,
the onus falls upon my heart,
to end this vicious game.

 

 

 

 


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