It was a weary afternoon. The sky was drowned with angry clouds, The ambience, drenched in strokes of blue For the sun was in hiding like it had a flu. "The earth must share in our agony" I thought to my self as I stared at the skyline Which not so surprisingly was visible: There was hardly anyone within sight, The regularly buzzing village square Was doused in a silent melancholic tune The memories of our sons and fathers Danced to with reckless abandon. It was a grand fest of pain and sorrow. Every turn, every corner was painted red. The air reeked of bravery and courage, The valiant heroism of the weak. "Rain!" A little girl shouted from a distance. Everyone rushed out hurridley To behold for themselves this miracle "The gods have heard our prayers" Mama Iyat shouted dramatically, As she started to do a dance. The gods are mourning for the souls lost, Weeping for what the senseless war had cost