I sit on a mammoth mountain
Holding the map of a nation
I stare at map with fondness
While I savour the smell of peace
But mood wouldn’t be retained for long;
Map suddenly bleeds
Blood flows like the Red Sea
Children’s tears deafen my ears
Adults wail in agony
Brutality and cruelty without ceasing.
Peace is sick in Syria
Should we call violence to treat?
Love is jailed in Syria
Should we employ hatred to defend?
Humanity is assaulted in Syria
Should we call inhumanity to Judge?
Death is thieving in Syria
Should we call Death to arrest?
War is a whore
It seduces death to be its lover
While being engaged to catastrophe.
Confusion parties within me
Violence must halt
But certainty of identity of the STOPPER eludes me
How can peace be so costly
When all we need to purchase is love?
Written by: Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.