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Syrian Graveyard

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Below is the poem entitled Syrian Graveyard which was written by poet Nsah Mala. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Syrian Graveyard

Unnumbered human corpses
mutilated and spread
like illegally-shot elephants in Waza Park!
From ‘man know thyself’
to ‘man hates himself’-
humans mutilate humans!

Future-bound glorious infants,
feeble moms
and luck-abandoned dads
bombed, suffocated, shot and slain
by politico-economic drunks!
Yawning stomachs here,
blood-dripping arms there,
open-mouth frozen heads here,
rotting breasts there,
decomposing legs here…

We are in Homs,
we are in Alep,
we are in Damascus where
there has been fierce fighting
since long ago…

Vultures in black suits
brace up
for carnivorous autopsy ;
they transport chunks from
the uninterred corpses to
carnivorous mortuaries up-sky.
Maggots, ants and scavengers
perform rapid interments,
substituting caskets and graves
with their innards and
facilitating the cycle from dust to dust.

These mean creatures,
some flying,
others crawling
and some others walking,
feast on the garbage corpses ,
mocking man’s inhumanity to man
and celebrating
this sudden twist of values—
the beastification of humans and
the humanisation of beasts.

They mock us,
they mock us
for this sudden twist of values.
They also mock us and bemoan
the occidental-egoistic planes
that burned
infinite barrels
of exploitation fuel on Libyan skies,
urinating bombs and missiles,
grinding and crushing humans for humans
or humans for oil.

Aha! What a twist of values!
Exploitation went mad
and naked in Bengazi…

We are in Homs,
we are Alep,
we are in Damascus
where all Pauls
have gone Sauls…

Annan can’t understand
humanitarians’ whereabouts
now. His six points
repose in occidental dust bins.
Then he sighs.
Then he sighs,
performs Pilatism
and gives up.

Moscow and London
persistently draw parallels
that can only
meet magically
in Damascus.
So-called World Powers
Now ride snails to
Syrian emergency meetings
while they were flown
in swallows to Tripoli.

We are in Homs,
we are in Alep,
we are in Damascus
where countless infinities
of Arab eyes have focused
on one cushion since last year :
one cushion of thorns and pleasure,
one cushion of spikes and leisure.

The solution then?
It only lies back
in the Syrian Graveyard.

Syrians, counts these abandoned, mutilated,
rotting, decomposing corpses.
Count them and drop your arms.
Count them, drop your arms
and impregnate your land
with progress.

Know this: There is only one
seat in every presidency…
A president may toy
with a human constitution,
but can never ever
thwart the Womb-to-Tomb Constitution .

(Mbankolo, 6 August 2012)

Copyright © Nsah Mala

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  1. Date: 1/15/2013 5:38:00 PM
    Nsah, , it is evening over here in Texas, I saved this page in order to come back and place a comment here... a very strong thought provoking poem... interesting at its most..xox~LINDA

  1. Date: 1/15/2013 9:55:00 AM
    Nsah, stopping by to say hi ;-) and welcome you to this lovely soup bowl. My name is Linda; everyone here calls me PD for fun. I'm here picking up and finding new poets to love, appreciate and adore. Please do not hesitate to look me up here on the soup if you need feedback on your poetry. I am looking forward into following your poems as you grow and post here at the POETRY SOUP. Take care~ LUV PD"

  1. Date: 1/14/2013 5:22:00 PM
    The atrocities of endless wars all because of greed. sigh...Light & Love