Farmers المزارعين by Neil Fawcett
We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children - Jimmy Carter
Arable land blows away in winds
when soil, weighed down with water, dries.
Crust crumbled to dust lifts to blind
eyes, mute suns, stain skies.
Heads detached from necks are cognisant.
Five seconds is long enough to see
the red fountain, free from resistance,
coagulate the sun with living screed.
A roof rips off and light lets in death.
A father’s head sees his son’s arm in flight
his girl’s legs cartwheel, before his final breath;
her intestines trail like the tails of a kite.
Farmers watch plumes trail tyres,
and silent shadows, race to share
cargos, fuel for sun sized pyres;
sowing seeds, growing smoke in the air.