There is no silence when the drones have left the land we blessedWe crushed, splayed tiny beetles, wailing by the rubble towerThere is no street, no house, no place here that we once caressedNo water, no light, no heat, no food, just eyes of tanks to glowerTwisted metals, concrete pieces, buried memories, buried friendsIn a haunted scream, held in gossamer thin tents and chicken wireNo eyes, no ears, suppurating, sore, crippled, bleeding for your endsOur bodies ground into dust, your righteousness, our funeral pyreDesolation, desecration, schools, hospitals and cemeteries, goneTears on our lands, buzzing death, guns and grenades rub us outThis story heard across the world, no safe place for us or anyoneYou’ll not banish death by fearing what’s inside; your twisted shoutFill our minds with bruising battles won? Your archers’ magic bow? The thief will come, the final judge; you’ll be gone as we all know. Christopher 2026Picture:William Blake’s The Day of Judgment 1808 illustrating Robert Blair’s poem “The Grave”http://www.blakearchive.org/exist/blake/archive/work.xq.