*****
such problematic, such frightful poems,
full of anger,
so politically incorrect
no beauty in these poems,
no aesthetic at all
the metaphors withered and fell to pieces
before they could bloom
the metaphors buried
in children’s playgrounds
under hastily raised crosses
frozen
in unnatural poses
by the gates of houses,
covered in dust
they prepared meals over an open fire
they did try to survive
it was of dehydration that they perished
under the rubble
shot in a car
under a white flag
made from a sheet
with colorful backpacks over their shoulder
they lie on the asphalt
face down
next to the cats and dogs
I'm sorry to say so, but such verses
are all we have for you today,
dear Ladies and Gentlemen
spectators
of the theater of war