The boats were once used to catch fish,
They say Jesus was a fisher of souls,
Today they are those who dine and wish upon hate's dish,
Our world watches as people are spilled and killed in waters cold.

"What was their crime?"

These poor few who dared to make a stand,
The news tick-tocks the politicians slime-ridden rhymes,
This desert ocean was once the Promised Land.

This small band of courageous folk,
They tried to make a difference,
They sailed and spoke with high hopes,
They took no sides, Peace was their only preference.

Blood upon the sails,
Blood upon the mast,
Blood runs wet in the desert jails,
Blood stains the present and the past.

Peace died here,
Her guts were first spliced then sliced open,
Nothing will save us, not even a prayer,

"Look up there! Do you see Death's raven?"



©Rangzeb Hussain