Cynical
A poem.
I come here at the pre-primary
And the daycare every day.
I look at the children and their faces,
And I see death, destruction, war, riots and hunger.
These boys and girls, these toddlers,
To whom we smile and wave our hands;
Whom we see struggling to stand and walk,
And follow their teachers’ lead,
Maybe carrying the worst racist traits
And the worst authoritarian tendencies.
Are they would be war criminals? Dictators?
Frauds? Rapists? Mass murderers? Mafia dons?
How do we know?
How will we change that?
Did Adolf’s mother know better
When she gazed at the innocent smile
And confused, curious eyes of her son,
The future demon of Birkenau?
Could Joseph’s dad see the vision of the gulags
In the twinkles of the little Joe’s eyes?
Whom should we blame for it?
Whose fault is it?
The school? The Church?
The patriarchy? The generals?
The king? The ministers?
The bureaucrats? The bankers?
The industrialists? The landed aristocracy?
The merchants? The colonialists?
God? Gene? Culture? Society? Ideology? The economy?
March 07, 2021





