Our hopes are dead and buried
In the shallow graves of the battle field,
Our cheeks are drenched
With tears that flows like river.
Sound of missiles and bomblasts
Are the lullabies that arouse us to sleep
And our mornings are welcomed with mourning,
Save our souls, the sweet song of our dying children.
These naked streets of ours
Were once clothed with humans
But now labelled “golgota”
A place for the skulls of soldiers and our sons.
When the play ground of mortals
Becomes the dinning of vultures
Either the gods are dead in their slumber
Or deaf to the calling of our grieving souls.
Our tears are mixed with the flavours of sorrow
Our tears are saltier than the water of Nile
Our tears travel all the way from Gaza
Where the foot steps of peace has been washed off by tears.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.