We all have been complicit
In these United States
Of murder most explicit,
It not God’s will nor Fate’s.
With presidential sanction
Kashoggi, journalist,
Was lured, without compunction,
And he could not resist.
Of clear and present danger
The White house was advised,
But shrugged, itself no stranger
To death unsanitized.
“We make a lot of money”
The President declared,
“As we trade blood for honey,
So let the world be scared.”
The cleaners with their buckets
Have come to scrub away
The stain of guilt; with luck it’s
No foul spot—so they say.
Jamal Kashoggi’s lover,
His fiancée, his bride,
While death came under cover,
Waited all day outside—
The Consulate gates opened
To let Kashoggi in,
Whereat the foul deed happened,
And whence foul lies begin.
The House of Saud is not your friend,
America, my countrymen;
However much you wonder “when?”
For honor, which you tried to bend,
Breaks like man’s bones were broken then.
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