(For All the Slain Children Tagged
as Collateral Damages of War)
wrapping fetus and bloated carrion
bee-lining toward murky septic sewers.
Rhythm? Abstinence? What eunuchs?
abort them quickly before a trimester
germinates more burden; stop the plague
of life on a cranky dying planet.
could no longer be heard in a muted valley,
elusive peace and quiet would be there,
no duties to rear, no grain shortages.
the draftees will stop coming. They have all,
all perished, in abortion camps, in famine
camps, in evacuation camps, in fire camps,
in garbage dumps, landfills, infirmary trash.
They have been massacred before in the hills
of Bethlehem, the pillage written in Gospel
language as the day of the innocents.
will be possible, nor will it be allowed either.
No rhythm of swords. Just Syrian chemicals.
Nigerian suicide bombs, Somalian pogroms.
Do not copulate, depopulate, depopulate!
Pill boxes will bear this mandate. Absent
the plea for missing kids, more is better.
Children soldiers? What for? Kill. Be killed.
Hell will be heaven on earth, death is life.
Nothing will be everything. A Zero sum.
Wrath descended, Apocalypse has come.
At sundown, on my hammock hour, I hum a lullaby.
And I become the magus among the cattails chanting:
O give me a home bursting with laughter and song,
O give me a nook to hide and hold quicksilver dreams.
In their crannies, I shall wrap them with sunflowers;
In icy snow chambers, I shall save slivers of sunlight
To keep them warm. I shall be the rabbit popped out
Of the magus’ cone hat, I shall jump and disappear
Into their hideaway taking the darkness with me.
In their lairs and tree houses, I shall bring dry flint
And candlesticks and all things bright and crackling;
I shall be with my wee ones and darkness be damned.
--- ALBERT B. CASUGA