We join Rita Amabili, author, theologian and lecturer, in this vibrant call to reawaken our humanity, in the face of war, facing children. Sometimes, poetry is the only way to speak out.
KILLING CHILDREN[1]
Do not kill children.
Do not teach soldiers to do the same
Lest their actions haunt you for the rest of your life
Lest the ugliness of war stain these children
Until their essence and their insides are deformed by your fault
Until you change the human in them before they flee in terror.
Don’t kill children.
Whoever you are, whoever they are, don’t do it.
Warn your hand before it becomes a monster
Turn your leg away: it must not bear the blow
Prevent your body from doing the irreparable act
From acting beyond respect, from profaning, from degrading.
No. Don’t kill children
Whatever their colour, sex or eyes.
Whatever their age. Aren’t you afraid of being denatured
Totally, forever. And what would become of your own offspring?
Stained, smeared, soiled before you’ve even opened your eyes?
Don’t kill your flesh before you’ve even conceived it.
Choose peace. The kind that does your heart good
The kind we talked about when you were a child.
At school? Didn’t you go? At home? Didn’t have one?
Then dig deep and you’ll find it.
Aren’t human beings made of love? Have we forgotten
To pulsate, to sparkle, to gleam, to blaze, to glow, to shine…
And to end up loving. To love. Choose peace. In truth, everything begins
Everything ends with love. Try to combine your life with it, remake it and see the child for what it is: a treasure, a becoming, a new beginning.
Don’t kill, Don’t kill children. Please don’t be a dreadful harpy
When you were created to bring back to the surface that oxygen altruism
Which is so lacking. Look at the little ones, find yourself in them.
Suddenly run, run faster than death, than the wound that strikes
us as long as you can, to the end of your breath, of your soul
Run further than the terror, run deprived of those you loved
Who still shudder at the life they left you, shuddering at its end
Run, wearing the holey knit of your foolish hopes, which the Great Ones will tomorrow crush without pity with their high-heeled laws.
Don’t kill the children.
These rosebuds about to bloom, soiled, bruised, but priceless
Short of water, food and medicine. Strong yet puny.
You look like them, be aware of it and be cursed for harming them.
harm them. Don’t kill them, because by doing so you are also killing yourselves.
Curse you for harming them and killing yourselves continuously.
Do not kill children. Do not kill children.
Whoever you are, whoever they are, don’t do it.
Know how to share beyond all animosity, beyond all hegemony
Because in the end we are nothing but ashes
What will you look like when you’re rubble
And hate still guides you?
They forgive you even if they don’t forget
Don’t kill the children.
Break up the bread that you forbid them to eat
The earth has enough for every living thing. It is useless to deprive them of it.
What will you look like when you are rubble
And hatred still guides you?
Don’t kill the children.
Do not teach soldiers to do the same
Lest their actions haunt you for the rest of your lives
Lest the ugliness of war stain these children
Until their very essence and innards are distorted by you
Until you change the human in them before they flee in terror.
[1] Traduction Enzo Martinelli
Rita AMABILI, M. Th.
Présidente et fondatrice
Auteure, théologienne et conférencière
cell.: 514-998-4162
@: rita@ritaamabili.com
boutique: ritaamabili.com
