Is there a point to life? Some say it is
To reproduce. Each generation learns
From parents, experts and philosophies,
And so we grow. But still the fire burns
As oil ignites Iraq, and Iraqis
Fight on, on their own soil. Both we and they
Still childlike: schoolyard minds, antipathies
Resolved by grown-ups swapping punches. Hey!
Wake up and smell the Kofi. There’s one earth,
One human race, one oil supply, one dream.
No child should be rich on their day of birth.
When people die, they must offer the cream
To those who have no water. Love is dry
Till fertilised with raindrops from on high.
Tue 26 Sep 2006
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