HATE’S PERPETUATION

— A reblog of a previous piece… —

by
moriba sababu

it isn’t the only reason…
but it’s reason enough… to hate…
and hate you did…
when they crippled your polygon
and tore your twin majesties
out of the bright early morning sky
with your fathers… brothers…
sisters… mothers… inside…
oooh… how they slaughtered them
as if they were but lowly dust
and the whole earth shivered
from the sudden chill of their passing…
but I had no fear…
nooo… not then…
for I thought you an adult…
with an adults sensibilities…
haaa… alas.. poor fool was I…
for you had buried your morality
and bathed instead in the pool
of your new found hate…
yet your hate was infantile…
lacking the ripeness of age
coated with the rancid ness
of an odor trapped too long
in an airless vault…
your hate was immature…
governed only by the unfamiliar
tentacles of fear…
your hate was brittle…
easy to be destroyed
to be supplanted with reason…
but now you lacked reason…
now you burned with a fire
for instant revenge
burned with a passion
of blood for blood
ahhh… yes… I-know I-know I-know
it can be a natural feeling
born from the coupling of anger…
and fear…
none are immune from their lash
yet not all need be consumed
by their fire…
but you…
ahhh…
you looked across the void
with impassioned eyes…
and saw whom you perceived
to be your foe…
so like an avenging angel
from the very crest of the heavens
you pounded them
with plagues of steel and brimstone…
then you crawled unto their land
and pissed around the mouths
of their caves…
then castrated the standing of their men
before the eyes of their women…
within the minds of their children…
and then… only then…
with your stomach now full
did your hate subside…
to a mere… hum…
now you will of course
resurrect their families
from the ashes of destruction
with money…
my god…
when will you ever learn
that not everything can be fixed
by your almighty demi-god…
their children will take it…
and grow…
their children will use it…
and develop…
but their children will not thank you…
their children will not look at you…
their children will not see you
for whom you really are…
and time like a band-aid
shall cover the wounds of your hate
and you shall die in your bed
like all hope to die…
but their children…
their children shall perceive you still
within the eyes of…
your children…
they will not look at them..
they will not see them
for whom they are…
they will only think of you…
while hating them…
it isn’t the only reason…
but by god… it’s reason enough
for them to hate…
for you had held their
fathers…
brothers…
uncles…
in cages like animals
within the penetrating gaze
of camp X-ray…
on an island… land you had purloined…
and now consider… yours
there you had sheared their locks
like a twenty-first century Delilah
after bedding them
in their mountainous homeland…
for you had issued them up
as a wanton sacrifice
to your youthful hate…
oooh god–my god–my god
it isn’t the only reason…
but it’s reason enough
for them to hate…
but such a hate as theirs
will be old…
will be cold…
such a hate will have festered…
and over time they would have grown
a kinship to the pus
seeping from the wounds
of their hate…
and they will wish to taste
the unholy fibre of you
between their teeth…
but instead…
they shall taste… your children…
they shall sip the blood of your children
who now play so joyfully
‘neath the protecting arms
of the cherry blossoms
in the shadow of your house of snow…
it isn’t the only reason…
but it’s reason enough… to hate

© Ralph Boothe