Stabat mater dolorosa
Stood the mother weeping
Over the coffin of her son
She was holding a photo of him
In a frame
Her son a soldier, aged twenty-five
*
The mother didn’t shout, she wasn’t loud
A pretty young woman in black clothes
Her pain was decent and deep
Not ostentatious
She didn’t beat her chest
Nor did she scratch her cheeks with her nails
She just remembered what her son had said:
“Mother for you I go to war
To protect you”.
*
Stood the mother, utterly lost
Her grief wasn’t showy
In front of the television cameras
She didn’t know what to say
Only that the city where she lived
Was relatively safer than other cities
Which were now being attacked by the enemy
Our home and our family
We, humans, are small
Self-centered and scared
News of the war
Will wake us up, shake us
Will make us worry
Mainly about our home
About our family
*
When we see photos
Of young soldiers who lost their lives
Of mothers who became refugees
Carrying their babies in their arms
We become sad
We shed a tear
We are human after all
*
At night we pray
Mainly for our home
For our family
If there is some spare time
We might say a quick prayer
For those who fight
Quickly, as if we wanted to drive the thought away
Not let it come nearer
Not let it threaten us,
Our home
And our family.
Anti-war songs and poems
Anti-war songs and poems
Will be written
Antimilitarist novels, too
There will be films promoting peace
Picasso-like paintings in galleries
And yet the war will go on
Peace isn’t a white dove
Peace isn’t a white dove
Nor a sign in a circle
Peace doesn’t mean preparing for war,
as the saying goes.
Peace is a boring day
When you wake up in the morning
To go to work
When you return home in the afternoon
To do the cooking and the cleaning
To feed your children
And go to sleep again
With the certainty that the next day
Will be as boring as this one
