Muted Barrack

Muted Barrack
A barrack is full of thirsty wolves
Full of bitter sweetness
Macho hands holding guns
Professionally high above their soldiers
With the swagger of the Assyrian army
Waiting for the tinkle of a trigger from the General
To pull a score loads of triggers

But the barrack is mute today,
Soldiers long gone on death errands
The cantonment, a buzzing hive of life
Now a stinking hive of corpses
Guns lay harmlessly fallow,
Bullets mere pebbles in the bloody field

The road is bloody red, the colour of fresh tomato paste
Gallant hands lay fallow as dead ants
Having succumbed to the vicious heroics
Of the half-vampires, half-zombies from the Barbaric Republic

The muted warnings of our ancestors
Which were turned down by our predecessors,
Inclusive of our own muted stance
A poor sham for our own precedent successors

In the battle of yesterday
Bravery was a callous crucifixion
Cowardice was pure genuine genius

Muted Barracks
Louder than the racks of bombs
Louder than an erupting volcano
Louder than any earthquake
Louder than the roars of a lion
Louder than the howling owl
Louder than animal sounds
Louder than the sounds of machines
Louder than the axes and the falling trees
Louder than the cries of a labouring mother
Louder than the agony of a raped human
Louder than the cries at a funeral
Louder than pain, agony, sorrow and a broken heart
Louder than trauma and extremism
Louder than the expression of words and thoughts

Muted Barracks


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