Outrage
The explosion comes
Always without warning
The ear-drum splitting noise
The force of the blast
And the percussive shock-wave
Of shrapnel as it flies in all directions
Screams of terror fill the air
And dust-clouds billow
As if to coat the bloody bodies
And hide them from inspection
The crack of concrete
And the crunch of shattered glass
An uneven layer of dusty debris
The smoking aftermath of bombers
Deal out death and indiscriminate injury
Damaged bodies and severed limbs
Casualties littered across the street
The wail of urgent sirens
Heralds the arrival of police and paramedics
Who crawl across the wreckage
To pull out maimed and mangled bodies
In unseen heroic acts
But who later on are more visible
Standing outside the hospitals
And before the cameras
Giving details of the deceased
And estimate the numbers
And yet these official figures
Take on very different meanings
Whether in Boston or Baghdad
In London or Afghanistan
Where the value of a Western life
Becomes inflated by the media
And where a Middle Eastern soul
Who was someone’s husband
Mother, father, brother
A lately-living person
Is reduced to just a cipher
Just a nameless victim
And somehow worth a little less
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