Wildflowers
Wash your hands, Go!, Wash your hands
Pick up the soap and rub it all over
Coat the rotten flesh with fragrances
Wash away all the stains and the blood of the sufferers
As I sit in isolation, all alone just me and the chair
With nothing but the moist air
I wonder if the walls are moving closer
To trap me in this blindness and hunger
The North is burning, fire washes the hills clean
Suffocating the people as smoke falls down the ravine
Of a dried stream and dead bodies
And down there, forgotten, sprung the poppies
The birds are flying southward, but their wings are broken and tired
From their cracked beaks they try to cry
For help, in desperation, but alas they do not reach
The city of lights and noises of the rich
Out from the pen the command goes “Stay inside, just stay inside”
But inside means leaky roof and empty jars
Piggy banks are smashed and chairs are kicked
But the voice of greed drains out the thud
It is a war against the virus
And our arsenals are ready
Ready, Fire!
Kill them all, kill them all
(Objective: them all)
Bullets fly over the field of wildflowers that grow on parched soil
The young petals dance in the wind, some are taken out
The old ones twist themselves and look at the sky
In search of imaginary clouds and false beliefs
Again, from the pen, the pigs oink
“Mute the flowers. Their songs annoying
But keep their seeds, the delicious parts”
So the ants march to the field and bite bare stems
The cycle goes on, the petals fall to the ground and are stomped on
Some wrinkled ones mock the fallen youth of their faith
That one day they will grow thorns and fight back
Still the pigs eat on the seeds insatiably
And they named the field the land of the free.
