A Kingfisher sat on a Beanpole

a kingfisher sat upon a beanpole one fine day
observing the weather, sniffing the wind
as it whistled softly past
watching the dewdrops dry up
beneath the thin razor lallang blades
as the purple bougainvillae bloomed
in an empty field far upon the botak hill
with a barking dog
that yelled like a man
every time an officious bystander
decided to walk up the hill
and chew gum and spit it out
as if the world were mad with grief
grief from the killing fields of Babylon
where mother child and soldier boy
are killed every day
to satiate a nation's lust for power
a nation's desire to prove its superiority
white, black, coloured, yellow
birds of prey, animals gone wild,
men gone grey with age and dying of aloneness
in a many wintered land
where the free strings of a glassy eyed kite
once brought an old Jew from Babylon
to show the way to Truth

the kingfisher in his blue ribboned glory
did not cut red ribbons for a white lady
neither did he sing out of tune periodically
he sat alone and observed the world
without parroting a lie
or kissing a baby to show his compassion
no, it sat alone and when the heat became too hot
it flew away like a dart
into the bamboo bushes
without hurting a fly
without glorifying a lie
without killing a man and leaving his wife to die
in a field away from Golgotha
but quite near to hell
and then calling it
Democracy in a Field of Locusts
to justify their sin
and erase their guilt
before the statue of Liberty
in Alcatraz ...

Shackles and men, men of shackles
enslaved to their white irons
in the valley of Death
O, Death : how thou deceives
the mighty warriors of the world
throwing them into hell
and making them believe
it is just a long route
to paradise ...