June 16th, 2002.
The Cry of the Terrorist
By Naseem Mahnavi
To aim to kill or not to kill?
That is the vital question.
For many, an act of deliberate will;
For some, a mere compulsion.
In a jungle full of carnivores,
In a city inhabited by cannibals;
Are there any ethical mores?
Can there be any shielding walls?
The clever one just intimidates,
The imbecile takes up a noisy gun.
For one who can not take dictates,
Blowing up self is mighty fun.
Can one control a raging typhoon?
Or hold down an earthquake?
The fury of nature subsides soon;
But not the fires that people make.
The child cries like insane,
And kicks at anything that comes its way.
But mother knows that it is in pain,
And her tender caress makes it play.
So where is the mother of the terrorist?
Who could nurse him and give him solace.
Terrorists are there in every nation,
And they are the children of the human race.
Their pain arises from inherited sores,
Legends of conquests, tyrannies and wars;
Histories tainted with acrimonious lores,
And faiths that have been turned into farce.
So Mother! Wake up and turn around;
The time for sweet dreams is over now.
Your baby cries; you have to be found,
No matter where, no matter how.