So, Mr. Mladic, I first heard of your crimes from the battered lips

Of a man who had escaped one of your torture centres, who sLipped

The ropes that bound him to a faucet that dripped water on his head.

He and millions of Muslims in Bosnia will be glad that you are dead.

I like to imagine that one day a squad of tasty men marched into your prison

Rooms in the Hague, saying, “Good Morning Sir, we remember the Christian

Army.of Bosnia in which we were bullied until we deserted, and we think

You ought to remember it also, as we punch you to the floor and kick

Your balls a bit, yes, it’s very painful and degrading, but later, in your torture

Halls You made it worse, remember? A gun muzzle in our nose was enough horror

To make us strip naked for the electric wire to be clipped to the penis, like this

And activated, like this, which makes you scream because it’s a drill that rips

Through all your tissue and recurs with any orgasm, you won’t want many of them,

Most of us gave up then, accepting dishonourable discharge and unemployment.

Others screamed their courage at your face until you shut them up with a bullet

In the mouth. Ready? It won’t hurt, give you my word. And don’t try to chew it…”

 

None of that happened. You were treated with decency but never understood it,

Thinking that moral disciplines are a waste of time and any kindness stupid.