By Will Kirkland, 2005
It was in Bosnia, during a war:
Serbs were shooting at Muslims,
Muslims at Serbs;
Cruelty was organized.
Not all
Took sides. A Serbian family demurred:
This is where we live
these are our neighbors
let Allah and God settle their differences
as we have settled ours.
These Serbs were not
Well loved by other Serbs.
Shells fell day and night
On Muslims, and on all
Such traitorous Serbs.
During a break in the fighting
Muslims came to take their son away.
He never returned. Another died
While fighting with the Serbs. Their third
Was a girl, an infant at this time.
Her mother’s breasts went dry.
The shelling did not cease. The girl
Was given tea. Now inside the walls,
As well, the suck of death.
Until a Muslim farmer came
with milk. Every morning
Before the light
he brought a tin.
The child needs its milk.
What matter Serbs?
Though other Muslims cursed him
He came. He refused
the payment offered; didn’t want
their prayers.
Though the guns roared, his boots
Ascended the stairs, four hundred
And forty-two days let us praise
This man and the god he serves
Bringing milk to a child
In a time of war.
(C) Will Kirkland February, 2005
My work up of a story told by C Hedges in War Is A Force that Gives Us Meaning, p 52-53
Tags: Will Kirkland