Turn

We will prevail,

He insists.

President of the United States

Turns to his people

We the people? Will prevail.

The people to prevail

Turn to their little screens

And watch the bombs

Falling screaming falling

Over and over again with deadly monotony.

The soldiers on the ground

Turn to their superiors

Wait for their orders

With jittery nerves and false bravado

Spitting out the dust of war.

The dusty child, confused by the rubble,

Turns to call his mother

Lying open-mouthed beside him

Voiceless mother

Lies silent till the day of judgment.

A lonely man of frustrated conscience

Turns away from the President,

the people, the soldiers, this child.

And becomes another grain of sand in the desert

A barren man in a barren land.