Disaster on the horizon

It begins with words —

The daggers of men

Who bleed their nations

Of hope, kill any

Promise.

Here is war.

A bag full of hate,

Threats blanketed in the heat —

posturing, angry

Man-Rhetoric

Unleashing disaster

On the horizon.

War doesn’t have a face.

At first, it sounds like a bell

Striking midnight.

But it doesn’t go back,

Doesn’t have a bottle.

It is endless, this storm.

You cannot call this back.

This witchery gives nothing.

It’s a tornado that sucks

Up life, and spits out nothing

But ashes, broken minds

I can feel in my bones.

Near as anyone whose face

I see, whose eyes I hold

Tight, fixed on the compass,

I see this: this war coming,

Breaking loose

In these mouths.

They are monsters

Who cannot see

The people who will weep.

They are creators

Of a destruction

That begins on the tongue

And ends in the cold

Eyes of tomorrow.

About
Persis M. Karim edited “Let Me Tell You Where I’ve Been: New Writing by Women of the Iranian Diaspora” (University of Arkansas Press, 2006) . She teaches English literature at San Jose Satate University. Visit Persiskarim.com

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