Vengeance

Filthy Americans!

They shot my father,
A poor but honest farmer
Who was only trying to hide us,
And burned our pitiful garden.
Now my sisters live outside their stinking camp,
Wives to a thousand men,
In order to feed the rest of us.
Mother
Simply rocks back and forth and mumbles
Like the old ones whose minds have left them.
My brother,
My innocent, youngest brother,
Was blown apart like a frog
While searching for food by the river.

My young wife,
So gentle and lovely,
Died after bearing me a son,
Both too weak to live
Because they had no food.

My country will never be at peace
Until the last one is dead,
Sprawled and bleeding on the floor
Where he just violated my sister's body.

In the day
I work for the murdering dogs,
Washing their spotless uniforms,
Pulling them on wooden carts,
And serving them their precious beer.
But when night falls,
I creep upon them in their sleep,
Avenging my country,
My family,
Myself.

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