How magnificent the war is! How eager and efficient! Early in the morning it wakes up the sirens and dispatches ambulances to various places swings corpses through the air rolls stretchers to the wounded summons rain from the eyes of mothers digs into the earth dislodging many things from under the ruins... Some are lifeless and glistening others are pale and still throbbing... It produces the most questions in the minds of children entertains the gods by shooting fireworks and missiles into the sky sows mines in the fields and reaps punctures and blisters urges families to emigrate stands beside the clergymen as they curse the devil (poor devil, he remains with one hand in the searing fire)... The war continues working, day and night. It inspires tyrants to deliver long speeches awards medals to generals and themes to poets it contributes to the industry of artificial limbs provides food for flies adds pages to the history books achieves equality between killer and killed teaches lovers to write letters accustoms young women to waiting fills the newspapers with articles and pictures builds new houses for the orphans invigorates the coffin makers gives grave diggers a pat on the back and paints a smile on the leader's face. It works with unparalleled diligence! Yet no one gives it a word of praise.
Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea [excerpt]
Through your eye
and punctured helmets pour out.
Frequent tremors occur in your land
as if invisible hands shake your trees day and night.
They blockaded you and banished the oxygen from your water,
leaving the hydrogen atoms to quarrel with one another.
Shouldn't the nations be disturbed by the face of a child
who shuts her mouth and eyes
in surrender to UN resolutions?
But they only opened their own mouths slightly,
smaller than a bud,
as if yawning or smiling.
We made room in our day for every star,
and our dead remained without graves.
We wrote the names of each flower on the walls
and we, the sheep, drew the grass
—our favorite meal—
and we stood with our arms open to the air
so we looked like trees.
All this to change the fences into gardens.
A naïve bee was tricked and smashed into a wall,
flying toward what it thought was a flower.
Shouldn't the bee be able to fly over the fence-tops?
Long lines are in front of us.
Standing, we count flasks of flour on our fingers
and divide the sun among the communicating vessels.
We sleep standing in line
and the experts think up plans for vertical tombs
because we will die standing.