the silence before the strike: a poem

There is the pride of conquest, 

imperialism has etched lines onto his face, 

now haggard spent and old he still thinks the spoils are his only. 

He can’t even hold his cup let alone the gun he once brandished, 

used at will on both the innocent and guilty. 

He was cruel and merciless in most cases, 

he had even killed youth without a qualm. 

There are no second thoughts and the bullet lodges itself 

or passes through the victim’s body. 

Soldiers of Christ, of Islam

Signals are hidden digital drone

The silence before the strike

The hand of two Gods 

Wiping the battlefront clean

Wiping the protagonists away

Dust to dust 

Remember the battle

Guerilla tactics

The war will go on in our minds

As the dead youth seek vengeance

Islam takes vengeance

Christ redeems in vengeance

The war never ends

As long as we never admit defeat

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