Bombs Over Volgograd

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, July 17, 2013 Under: Rhymed Verses

Bombs Over Volgograd

“I drank with all my heart, and not
For fun, to cut a dash:
I’ve heard the world’s youth sing, I’ve seen
The Hiroshima ash.”

- While Earth Rotates, Rasul Gamzatov

Fear debilitates the young, death comes swiftest for the old
Inflicting traumatizing agony on the most innocent of souls
Once man hits logistic codes, our doomed image is foretold
as young Aisha is forced to make the pilgrimage alone
Russian economies suffered from blackouts, businesses were sold
Post-Cold War jitters had her feeling frigid to the bones
It seemed she suffered from atomic-war-phobia - a syndrome that’s unknown
Meanwhile, in Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota, history would show
Moscow was in the crosshairs, St. Petersberg missiles would compose
A death orchestra…with the movie “It” playing in the foreground
only this time there wouldn’t only be Asians in the morgue count

beyond a Jericho plague, hazardous flames aimed at very close range

Nagasaki 2.0, hydroelectric pulsations causing varicose veins
The dark tower looms over Stalingrad…these were heavy times…
on propaganda pamphlets, you could see the concern in Lenin’s eyes
The burning sherry pines were a sermon to the surgeon -- Pennywise
Americans and their democracy spreading; the motto was cocky
Calling us commie’s, guns blazing with a cargo of Tommy’s
The canvas was a prelude to the war, a terrible art that was faulty
A thousand papal crayons to color the pale face of Sadako Sasaki

Captain Death, we’ll name the bomb Sally...

“Heeeeeeeeere’s Sally!”

She had the look of Anne Frank, and a concentrated way about her
ash may as well have settled about her shoulders already…
Privately, she knew that she could already almost taste the powder
It was a night full of aircraft hangar sirens and early wake-up calls
Navy carrier breakfast on the go, hands beating on misshapen walls
The arms race was getting out of hand, about ready to decapitate itself
Presidents, prime ministers & generals sat with mountain base intel
pushing aside their petty differences, accolades and wealth
Apocalyptic posters started to boast ‘The Rapture made it… Swell!’
The Pentagon assumed the murky air of a Stephen King screenplay
Officials took a Stand on WOMD, dazed, unable to Carrie the burden
of another D-Day…
May severe punishment come to any killers of the young
“Rather than Stone Age, this bomb will send us back to the Simarillion!”
Secretaries of state don’t give a damn where Petkovic Cemetary is placed
Take a ride on the hot air balloon
when the mushroom cloud’s epicenter inflates
Persons incinerated by fierce winds in the aftermath of the blast
Personifies our fear’s whims, destroying any spiritual apparatus intact
“Mr. President, going live to the nation in 3... 2... 1...”
“Condemning lives as we strike at the mainland…
3 destructive inventions… 2 politicians… 1 devastating outcome.”
Aisha took shelter in the tunnel alone, predisposed to suffer from colds
since her Papa had been summoned to the submarines that hovered below

Secretly, she feared the vessel’s rudder would slow
The darkness of this shelter was where Chupacabra’s underlings roamed
waking up through nights, bad dreams, bad omens, uttering ‘NO!!!’
Soft red locks of hair, blue jeans, leather boots, rough yet laced
Subtext A, she planned on surviving radiation, keeping it for months at bay
Plan B, she’d brought a razorblade & a bottle of poison just incase
A young girl who was helpless amidst this God-wrath
Anxiety did a hit series on her, inappropriate for television broadcasts


When enough politicians clown around, our greatest fears are realized…


“No… Here no revelers are found
Who hail you with a laugh or smile.
All silent is this burial ground,
My people’s final domicile.

The stones within your bounds sedate
More crowded grow with every year.
I know full well that soon or late
My time shall come to settle here.

Wherever our life paths may wind,
Here we assemble in this row.
Yet many names I do not find
Of men who perished long ago.”

- Tsada Cemetary, Rasul Gamzatov





In : Rhymed Verses 

Make a free website with Yola