Misty Clouds

Suddenly it looks misty and cloudy. A miasma of our duplicitous past Is hanging over the Niger. Blowing down from the polar. It looks like rain again. Rain again, Whoever wants it to rain again. Who is it that taught you Such mendacity: You were "born to rule"? Whoever lied to you that The more southerners you killed Or the more churches you bombed, The more virgins you will be entitled to in heaven? Whoever told them We can not match their missiles or Even quench their fires With the waters we have in the khamsin? It looks like a storm again But we no longer use machetes. They appear to be ready; Chanting their war songs. But we pray not for this impending rain of blood.