Afghanistan Waits



The frail moon has slipped behind a cloud
the stone-goddess is crashing down
the raven has flown away from here
elements fall in random chaos
disharmony pulls integrity apart
all is not where it should be.

There's an ill-formed shadow across the land
thousands still lie in stratums of concrete
their mobile phones stopped ringing now
dust settled to uneasy piles
of ghostly grey asbestos powder.

The crowd is screaming out for blood
pointing fingers, fanatic, revengeful
the law of credibility has shifted
no-one knows where the fulcrum lies.

God in his heaven went the way of hyperbole
spin-meisters seize the day
no saving grace
no measure of truth
we go the way of Hollywood horror
new millenia gothic unrest.

Miles away, Epona lies on a moist green hill,
on the seat of Marsa chalk-white horse
carved in earth, etched in times's Iron Age -
adoration of the Great Horse Goddess
ever bound in faithful contour
her ancient edges meticulously trimmed
for a view few can see, still, she's here at least
a loving shrine to gentler times wholly
given to sacred seasons.

In the southern hemisphere razor-wire barricades
hold to hostage refugees swing like refuse
aimless in the wind
ordinary hearts are floundering
uncertain, un-attuned to the new rhythm
percussion increased to a faster heart-beat.

But it's all in the stones, they know everything
keep locked within their gravitas -
their measuring confines -
the history of all of us.

Between epochs - water and air
wind breathes in tornadoes of fire
sun-fury, light, scream outside
remembering the 'burning times'.

Headlights prowl unceasing
eating the urban shadowy streets
crawling inside metal and plastic
music punctuates emotion to the brink
three ravens sit in the bare bough'd tree
forboding at Solstice to an indifferent breeze.

The mud-house is abandoned, deserted in haste
pleasure peeled from its' ravaged walls
Who lived here ? Why did they leave ?
Where have they gone ?
To what other merry-go-round ?

Strange lights illuminate the sky
the crowd closes in, scapegoat on it's mind
murder the list of probabilities, sirens scream
dogs howl at the moon, and a rumble groans
so far in the distance, so deep down
ominous, indistinct.

Children sleep uneasy in their beds
their small heads disjointed
unrequited in dream
they're drawing pictures
in rivers of blood, stick-figures
dismembered - counsellors cry the grieving must begin.

But there's no safe-house, night's the only cover
cold is coming hard on the mountain
empty mouths
rags worn threadbare
who will feed the starving millions ?
Are they to die beseiged inside their own land
wedged between gunfire and cluster bombs ?

The other side braces, confronts the inevitable
white-powder hysteria grips the nation
but could it be white supremacists
hate-mailing their own people ?
a country beginning to cannibalize ?
in absence of why - redemtion's
a flag-waving frenzy of stars 'n stripes.

Wall Sreet spin-dives stock and shares
the market quakes - war the way out
corporation speculation
currency shuffling
hustling lawyers
a self-absorbed frittering culture
throws away in a day what others live on for a year.

The oil-man in the White House calls a crusade
declares vengeance for evil done
unrevealed the evidence
he promised to share
so now he bombs what he can't understand
the end-game will be more military, more bases
cowboy footprints rupturing a culture
suspicious of Western mercenary mind-set
with it's clamouring lust for ever more
blood for oil, gas, dominion of the whole world.

The ravens are leaving one by one
the wind knows not
its own direction
the sulphur is alight
a shadow lies across the moon
a little more magic disappeared this night.


Pamela Sidney 2001

Babylon
(Gulf War One)

Mothers die and children burn
the field of war runs with blood
blood, and the oil of fighting machines
blood mixed with oil below desert sands
and justice hangs limp, a word emasculated
truth dribbles into the Tigres and the Euphrates.

Christians have mounted another Crusade
to rid the world 'they say' of a devil from hell
to rid the world of an infidel.

War cries are shrieks of bomb-laden planes
war cries are howls of people in pain

'man' goes on glorifying his slaughter.
TV anchor-men gloat of clean surgical strikes
when asked of Baghdad's casualties
they decline to comment
say 'collateral damage is light'

keep it clean, keep it surgical
keep it anything but human

bombs rain on Baylon
we are 'softening up' the general says
military men with cold dead eyes
rejoice over tactical terror
precision destruction
Smart bombs, Patriot accuracy
journalists babble
release uncensored facts
ten minutes later reports are amended
we are the recipients of a litany of lies
they give us saturation communication
while they tell us nothing.

All over the world people march for peace
all over the world they say 'talk not war'
they carry placards saying 'no blood for oil'
but the hollow feeling still remains
Christians are testing their weapons of war
behind walls of jargon and sanitized words
they commit their act of genicide.

They say they're purging the world of a plague
as generals tally tanks, troops and missiles
peace marchers cry for suffering humans
mankind has responded to his basest instincts
now he treads the conqueror's path
Superman cleaning up the world
Superman saving the oil,
Superman bombing the despot
Superman killing babies
Superman holocausting Muslims
Superman out of his depth.

Christian soldiers bomb Babylon
can't get evil out of their brains
can't get the devil out of their hearts.

They are bombing Gaia's womb
they are bombing the sacred source
they are bombing the cradle of civilization
they know exactly what they do
fight to dominate the world
fight to own all the resources
bribe Arab kingdoms to stay on side
expurgate all debts, sell them weapons
set brother against brother in a holy war
they are Christians in a holy land.

In BBC's Britain, peace is officially banned
for the duration of the war - John Lennon's songs
are not to be played. They say no to 'Imagine'
no, to 'Give Peace a Chance'
the UN gives Bush the sanction to use force
and Bush bombs Baghdad - says he's saving Kuwait
Bush bombs Baghdad, he just couldn't wait.

Ancient Mespotamia, Babylonia
you were civilized before Homer and Virgil
you taught us humanity's arts
before Rome was founded, you Babylon
were already 3 thousand years old.

Nurturer of our culture, birthplace of writing
home of poets, the Garden of Eden
the golden age of Nebuchadnezzar
the great Alexander died within your walls
you gave us the democracy
Bush flaunts so shamefully
you, the essence of civilized life
gave birth to equality
told humanity gods and kings are fallible
must pay their way equally.

Babylon, you tell us of heroes
the epic of Gilgamesh
of one thousand years before the great flood
your history is of epic struggle
they, who would destroy you
wonder why you fight back.

In the fourth millennium BC
you made dry land from swamp
and Bush, you choose this little place
to drop your monstrous bombs
here, where agriculture was born
between the Tigres and the Euphrates
you moulded pots, worshipped your gods
built your temples to the sky.

The fifth millennium brought us your crafts
potters discovered the closed kiln
the painter ground materials
on palettes of stone
you left us translucent obsidian
the stone-cutter left us intricate seals
barbers shaved beards with very fine razors
playing pipes were made of bone
with your sun-baked bricks you built
the first true arch the world had known.

Then came copper, the metal
of your Goddess of Love Ishtar
she drove a chariot with seven lions
carried a bow, she was also a warrior.

But none can compare your gift of writing
a Sumerian proverb says :“the art of writing
is the mother of orators and the father of artists“.

In prehistoric age, when western man
still clothed in bear-skins, lived in caves
you were teaching the world the art of writing.

Bush you rain your bombs on Babylon
are you bombing the old temple near Baghdad
ten miles east, 5000 years old ?
The old temple that cradles our growth
measures our civilization
yours and mine.

My map has no Kuwait
no borders drawn
by some pompous Britain
Kuwait has oil millionaires
sheiks gambling their country's millions
amid the plush velvet of Monaco's casinos.

My map would banish these sheiks
these princes, these parasites
who keep their people living a serfdom.

Babylon you gave to the world
ancient tales uncorrupted by dogma
you, who hold the tower of Babel
meeting place for all the races of the world.

But they bomb you Babylon, they bomb you
they, who are jealous of your history
frightened of your god
they, who sneer at your desert robes
who scorn your respect for Allah
they, who know nothing of your noble tribes
they, the ignorant, the biased, the racist
do not know to what richness
they close their hearts.

When they bomb you Babylon
do they know of your Ishtar Gate ?
When they drop their payload
do they know of your fragrant
fragile hanging gardens ?
Do they know these things
as they press their buttons ?
Do they know of your Goddess Ishtar ?
Know she is Goddess of War as well as Love ?
Ishtar, the Holy Whore, Light of the World
Mother of all the Gods
how could she not retaliate ?

No, they in their ignorance neither know nor care
as they arrogantly open their doors of death
drop devastation upon your sacred soil
they bomb you Babylon
they bomb you
but you will rise
as Ishtar is supreme
you will rise Babylon
the world cannot destroy your spirit.



Pamela Sidney 1991