Walls

Cradled on his knees
I heard my father rattle off
Partition's horror stories -
my dreamscapes' sky turned red.
And I shuddered.

As an adolescent
I came face to face
with corrosive venom
spewed by frothing missionaries
of false pride.
And I cringed.

I read about genocide in Africa,
a victorious general
forces the rebel loser
to eat his own recently carved-out kidney.
And humanity crumbled.

Driving from Bergotel Bestei to Dresden,
I pass a signpost on the road
"To Auschwitz."
Half a million corpses rose.
I swallowed my tongue.

Nearer home,
they smashed an infant's head on the kerb,
shoved an iron rod two feet deep between a schoolgirl's legs,
carved open a lady lecturer's stomach and stuffed burning rags inside.
I shrunk.

Now, in my green heaven,
where crickets and frogs
fritter away their songs,
I hear the distant rumble
of the invisible walls
closing in.

(c) Max Babi
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Gracias Muchos, Peter Griffin
-your sense of aesthetics is truly
that of a blueblooded connoisseur...