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After Martin Place

(Formerly called  ‘A Poem From The Infidel’)

 

I have not seen your face

Or looked into your eyes

Nor you mine

But aren’t we brothers?

 

Does it matter what each we believe in?

What differences we have?

Whatever, whoever – in no God’s name is murder.

I have a mother, father – family, as do you.

If we both are wounded, do we both not bleed?

Or suffer hurt, or love, or smile – just the same?

 

Don’t we all have a right to live?

 

Why do you pursue this path of grief?

For you dig graves

Also for yourselves

 

Is this the hellish future you dreamed of for yourself, as a little child?

All these tears?

Didn’t you (like me) just want to be happy?

(Has bitter history taught us all nothing?)

 

Please brother! Sister! Turn!

Cross from this black path

It’s not too late to change

Or find a better way…

 

Don’t be beguiled by tricks, or ideology

This call to arms, is no anointed war

It is a call to hatred.

 

For surely

Only where tolerance and love is

Can your or my God be?

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