TELL ME MUMMY

TELL ME MUMMY


Mummy, tell me, tell me pray:
Why I see bombs every day,
Why do they daily fall down
On the people in the town?

Mummy, mummy pray tell me:
Who is this our enemy?
Have we in some way hit him?
Or, to bomb is just his whim?

Mummy, they call him US,
But, he is so unlike us.
We live in the huts of mud,
While he has got missiles scud.

Mummy, if he is so rich,
Then, tell me in manner which
He will get yet richer still
By bombing us at his will.

“O my son, so innocent!
I’ll tell you why he is bent
On putting us all on fire
To fulfil evil desire.

Mud houses does he eye not;
He eyes a real jackpot
Hidden deep under the soil,
Called black gold, or, simply, oil.

This is what entices him,
It is cunning, not a whim.
Weapons of mass destruction,
Is the name he has given

To what he says we have got,
Though such talk is simple rot.
This fact is well known to him.
One day he will pay for sin.”



* Written in abab 7-7-7-7 format. Initially written as item 712439, which was deleted on 22 March 2005 and substituted by entry no. 336237 in "WAR POETRY--award winner" , WAR POETRY. Posted as the present static item on 2 October 2008.



M C Gupta
11 June 2003

I’ll tell you why he is bent
On putting us all on fire
To fulfil evil desire.

Mud houses does he eye not;
He eyes a real jackpot
Hidden deep under the soil,
Called black gold, or, simply, oil.

This is what entices him,
It is cunning, not a whim.
Weapons of mass destruction,
Is the name he has given

To what he says we have got,
Though such talk is simple rot.
This fact is well known to him.
Telling lies, my son, is sin.


* Written in abab 7-7-7-7 format. Initially written as item 712439, which was deleted on 22 March 2005 and substituted by entry no. 336237 in "WAR POETRY--award winner" , WAR POETRY. Posted as the present static item on 2 October 2008.


M C Gupta
11 June 2003