CROCODILES
AND TEARS
(A
NIGHTMARE ABOUT WARMONGERS)
I dreamed last night of crocodiles
and tears.
Not the tears of crocodiles,
but tears that fill the pools
where the great beasts lie.
In my sleep the crocodiles slid
towards me
on skateboards out of the oily water
silent and smooth
thick as dreams and smiling.
Like blind and tongue-less terrier
dogs
with slowly wagging tails they
smiled,
but not like dogs, or even wolves,
for suddenly they raised themselves
on tiptoe and ran at me so fast
taking my most precious
in their yellow throats
and leaving me with tears.
Then round and round backwards
thrashing in the water,
unwinding tailwards
like giant screws reversing,
they drowned the most weak and
delicate
of my hope's children.
Drowning them with such tremendous
energetic uselessness,
killing all constant calm
but tears, tears, falling on and on
into the shame-filled water
where they have returned
to hate and history.
In quiet and secret places,
in safe homes, in old countries,
fear lies there too submerged.
Here are other men like crocodiles,
cold reptiles, suspended
in a bloodwarm, tearful element
that nurtures them until they maim
and kill
and we are left to weep and weep
such endless, unforgiving tears.
Copyright Ruth
Hartley
Lusaka 1987? A
nightmare after years and years of bush wars and violence.
