Artist - Kelsey Schirard
This poem is about the assassination of Franz Ferdinand. There were seven total assasins of different ages placed in different intervals throughout a parade that the duke was attending is Sarajevo, Bosnia. Each assassin was part of a cyanide suicide pact when the deed was done. However, the cyanide was not mixed right. They were all arrested and tried.
The Assassins’ Story
One:
Mehmedbasic is doing this for a greater place in the sun for Serbia, bomb in hand,
police in the way, leave it to the second to cause a racket.
Proud, this will not be my last.
Target: second car
Two:
I, Cabrinovic, arm arching back to launch at the Duke,
car accelerated, bomb, deflected.
Swallow cyanide and into the Miljacka.
What have we done?
Three:
Myself, Vaso, 17 years when the Black Hand touched me,
myself, failed to do its bidding.
Nothing to do but turn my life around.
Four:
Recruited by brother familiars
bomb, pistol, unused cynide.
Popovic, hid my weapons.
Found and released.
Five:
Lived on the fringes of terrorism,
later hung on those fringes
though unarmed and nervous
I, Ilic, could not keep the secret.
Six:
Motorcar to the hospital simply by chance,
Grabez, should have set an example for the five young ones,
all tied by a disease, Tuberculosis.
Death:
Wrong turn into myself, Pricip, successful in more than one-way, 14th anniversary
Two compressions to cause millions more,
The hunter has become the hunted,
“It is nothing, it is nothing, it is nothing.”
Kelsey Schirard
This poem is about the assassination of Franz Ferdinand. There were seven total assasins of different ages placed in different intervals throughout a parade that the duke was attending is Sarajevo, Bosnia. Each assassin was part of a cyanide suicide pact when the deed was done. However, the cyanide was not mixed right. They were all arrested and tried.
The Assassins’ Story
One:
Mehmedbasic is doing this for a greater place in the sun for Serbia, bomb in hand,
police in the way, leave it to the second to cause a racket.
Proud, this will not be my last.
Target: second car
Two:
I, Cabrinovic, arm arching back to launch at the Duke,
car accelerated, bomb, deflected.
Swallow cyanide and into the Miljacka.
What have we done?
Three:
Myself, Vaso, 17 years when the Black Hand touched me,
myself, failed to do its bidding.
Nothing to do but turn my life around.
Four:
Recruited by brother familiars
bomb, pistol, unused cynide.
Popovic, hid my weapons.
Found and released.
Five:
Lived on the fringes of terrorism,
later hung on those fringes
though unarmed and nervous
I, Ilic, could not keep the secret.
Six:
Motorcar to the hospital simply by chance,
Grabez, should have set an example for the five young ones,
all tied by a disease, Tuberculosis.
Death:
Wrong turn into myself, Pricip, successful in more than one-way, 14th anniversary
Two compressions to cause millions more,
The hunter has become the hunted,
“It is nothing, it is nothing, it is nothing.”
Kelsey Schirard
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