To Die For You

I do not know what it is like to die for you.
I am too young.
I saw too little.
I shed no blood.
I took no pain.
No wisdom guides my vision,
No ideals quicken my stride.
I see but little, I expect but much, I receive mere pittances,
And  my voice has always been quick to rise
In anger.
And I wonder what it would be like to die for you.

I do not know what it is like to cry for you.
I am too dry.
I saw no death.
I shed no tears.
I took no refuge.
But suddenly on an avenue I saw a man afire,
An old man,
Dignified, wise, without malice, a lover of children,
Put to the torch by some young men with idle hands.
And I wondered what it would be like to cry for you.

I do not know what it is like to lie for you.
I am too guileless.
I behold no phantoms.
I harbour no illusions.
I take no umbrage.
But I have seen your eyes grow opaque with lies.
I have seen your children twitch and, twitching, die,
And I have seen your mothers reach out and cry.
Your history vandalised.
Your artists brutalised.
Your gods demeaned and desecrated.
Your intentions falsified.
I have seen your leper's ruling touch
Reach out to corrupt and maim.
And I wonder what it would be like to die for you.