One of Many Martyrs
Photo by Chrisna Senatus
Were you at peace when you died?
When the flames fell upon you
Like the rubble of the bombs?
Did the pressure of your state
To kill and to maim
Come back to fuel you?
Has the smoke of your flesh
Combined with the slaughtered
Half a world away?
To ashes, you are reduced
By the occupation,
Just as Gaza, your sibling.
Will you rest when the only soot that stains the ground
Be yours?
Martyr, you burned like a torch.
And they came running to the light
Weapons drawn. The nature of
Empire.
Bushnell, the uniform of war
Fell before your feet
Below it revealed a beating heart.
They see the smoke now,
Rising over their homes.
Do they pray for it to end?
For the screaming and that
Awful smell of burning flesh to
Recede back to the punished land,
No, it's too clean here.
We are not monsters!
Aaron, his enlightened figure yells, “Yes!”
“You are monsters and
Your prey is human!”
And they know not of their terrors.
But savagely the flames
Pulled his body to the ground.
What was a man is now
A crumpled stain on the ground
A burnt hole in the facade.
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