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‘Tis
the season of deception, and the demons settle,
For
an evening of chit-chat and gossip
They
chuckle grotesquely,
They
wink and they giggle,
their
small eyes lost beneath rolling folds of fat.
“What
happens next?” A great question
for
an illustrious gathering.
Their
war-machine was performing
With
unprecedented grace and perfection.
Tears
of pride glisten on plump cheeks.
“They
say we have killed thousands.”
Their
slippery hands gesture and wave
In
growing excitement.
Their
tiny hearts flutter -
Victory
is near.
“Yes,
I have seen the bodies myself.”
One
particularly fat demon proclaims,
Looking
about him to register reaction.
They
skip around him with childish glee,
Sniffing
the air for the blood of the dead.
“I
wish they would die during the day,”
A
petulant demon says, wet lips pouting.
“At
night time, all the darkness looks the same.
I
can not tell child from woman from man.
Tell
them to kill in the sunshine.”
“Night
time is better statistically, strategically,”
Growled
a war-weary general,
Impatient
with the flightiness of youth.
“Besides,
they will die anyways,
Night
or day the blood smells the same.”
They
chuckle and clap their hands.
War,
o glorious war!
They
sing and they dance, whirling round its ritual fires.
Their
eyes gleam and twinkle at the destruction.
Their
ears quiver at the sounds of the falling houses.
Their
faces glow with the light of the fires
They
laugh at the thought of their war.
So
soon, too soon it will be over!
They
must, o they must brew another
Make
ready their falsehoods and practice their roles.
O
beware, beware, we must prepare
Our
classified documents, our secret evidence.
They
hurry and shuffle about.
But
what a wonderful millennium we’re living, they cry,
It’s
started with a bang, let’s hope it ends with a shout!
‘Tis
the season of deception, and the demons gather.
©
Marwa Elnaggar 2003
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