‘Tis the season of deception, and the demons settle,
For an evening of chit-chat and gossip
They chuckle grotesquely,
They wink and they giggle,
their small eyes lost beneath rolling folds of fat.
“What happens next?” A great question
for an illustrious gathering.
Their war-machine was performing
With unprecedented grace and perfection.
Tears of pride glisten on plump cheeks.
“They say we have killed thousands.”
Their slippery hands gesture and wave
In growing excitement.
Their tiny hearts flutter –
Victory is near.
“Yes, I have seen the bodies myself.”
One particularly fat demon proclaims,
Looking about him to register reaction.
They skip around him with childish glee,
Sniffing the air for the blood of the dead.
“I wish they would die during the day,”
A petulant demon says, wet lips pouting.
“At night time, all the darkness looks the same.
I can not tell child from woman from man.
Tell them to kill in the sunshine.”
“Night time is better statistically, strategically,”
Growled a war-weary general,
Impatient with the flightiness of youth.
“Besides, they will die anyways,
Night or day the blood smells the same.”
They chuckle and clap their hands.
War, O glorious war!
They sing and they dance, whirling round its ritual fires.
Their eyes gleam and twinkle at the destruction.
Their ears quiver at the sounds of the falling houses.
Their faces glow with the light of the fires
They laugh at the thought of their war.
So soon, too soon it will be over!
They must, oh they must brew, another
Make ready their falsehoods and practice their roles.
O beware, beware, we must prepare
Our classified documents, our secret evidence.
They hurry and shuffle about.
But what a wonderful millennium we’re living, they cry,
It’s started with a bang, let’s hope it ends with a shout!
‘Tis the season of deception, and the demons gather.
© Marwa Elnaggar 2003