Jan Oskar Hansen Poet Narrative

Our Aggression

Our Aggression 
We`re going out today for a drive, but it was cold and I was 
thinking what had happened to a small town somewhere afar 
and the nature around the town was flat sullen yet silky, but
 it was home for people of peace and young laughter. 
Few people ventured out but sat in their yard in the evening 
now that the town was in the grip of fanatical criminals. 
A few places were open, though, two cafes where men could 
drink coffee but not smoke, cigarettes and waterpipes had
 been outlawed, a sandy field where the young dreamed
 how to get away from this dangerous town drowning in fear
and paralyzing inertia
 No had heard a thing before bombs started falling killing everyone 
 inside the cinema, low flying helicopters came and shot at 
everything that moved, suddenly they left like shadows as
moonless night across a landscape not unlike the Dead Sea.
 Over 500 hundred people were killed mostly civilian and no 
Paris sympathy for them.  
The western world had again conducted a mass murder in the name 
of stopping terrorists. I sit by the fire and wonder why it that we in 
the West thinks it has the right to start wars as we please and why 
is it we so willingly follow demagogues and aggressors where they 
go down the road of ruins, death and suffering, proudly we wear
 their medals, ribbons and we are oblivious to its ghastly irony. 
We wrap us up in patriotic flags; dissent will not be tolerated we are 
so perverted we do not see we are wrapped in a shroud.

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