The bombed man came in a jeep
Full of tribals with ears ringing
From the boom of dynamite
That had blown off his fingers
And seared his eyes blind.
His left hand was wrapped in torn clothes
Containing bloody mangled fingers
And the geography of the world
Was etched in black charred flesh.
Each blood fleck one of today’s bombings.
All around a Google map bombs
Some accidently going off at work
Some planted with the deadly intent
Of protesting dying people
By sending sudden death.
Tribal health workers scurry.
IV lines are started through which
Medicines are sent to start the human
Work of healing broken bodies.
Does each fleck have its doctor?
The pain subsides with opoids.
In the fleck of blood called Sittilingi
Bacteria representing fences fall
To antibiotics representing forces
Of life, health and freedom.
Each fleck tells its own story
Of a bombed people’s despair
Of the human effort to comfort
Of an injured body’s desire
To heal and be whole again.
The bandaged sedated man
Is sent by jeep to Salem
Where burnt flesh will be
Separated from the healthy
And the hand will heal.
Lord grant us the power
To understand what allows you
To create worlds of health and death
Both coexisting peacefully
With no need for bombs.
A world in which medicines
Reach those who need them
And people have the freedom
To live wholly and sustainably
In close contact with what they love.
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