When there was no one left to kill
I stood there, tired, my hands
Reeking blood and sweat, my eyes half shut,
As if expecting it to fall upon me,
That black and heavy iron hawk of death.
And then my childhood came back –
Me standing by the road, hungry
As if food had not yet been invented, waiting
To see drays heavy with those already about to die.
The City was too far to comprehend.
And all I wanted was to be like them,
To find my fortune and forever live
In hearts of those who’s endless screams
Could have delivered me from that backwater
Into forgetful eternity of their greedy hearts.
The carters, on their way back home
Never told us why the carts are empty,
They smacked horses well and clacked,
Stirring up some dust before fading away.