In Falluja bombs fall, walls cave in and many people
are killed. A child fed up of being indoors runs out
into the yard, a mother runs after the child to get her
back indoors again and both are shot dead by snipers
dressed in camouflage uniforms. News on TV tells
us this: we see collapsed buildings, burning cars and
football stadium converted to a cemetery.An item
of news and we continue to enjoy our supper, while
a general asks for more tanks in a place where there is
no battlefield, only dark shadows, dust and death.

Then a young foreign soldier, captured by a group of
fanatical resistance fighters and in the name of their
God is executed on live TV.  Trussed up, slaughtered
like a pig at Christmas; and the horror we feel is real.
There is no escape: our capacity for hate has no limit,
we are only able to love our own blood, respect only
our own culture and have contempt for those who
believe in religions different from ours. Knee deep
in human filth we stagger through a life void of
hope and charity only to fall down the tunnel of
endless time.