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Liam Peare Jan 2019
WAR
Beautiful paradise draping in wanton vain
Men and women visage in pain
Storming the Homeland with sorrow's wind and rain
Laundering the beauty of morning's eyne.

The carcass of Country men blown by the wind- identity.
The Clamour of torment soul of Fellow man to despair- scythed the sanity.
Tears  in woe as thy'd watch the Homeland in ash
Threaded in enduring the shrieking of Homeland.
hannah Nov 2018
we could feel the pressure before the
bombs hit,
and the way the sky shifted, a shadow of coal
hurdling its urging body towards an impending color of red;
from not the dim decay of a setting sun
but the weeping of our bodies
in the same moment the buildings would fall.

we could feel the cradle in earth
where we lay embalmed in dissected cement,
in open cracks teeming desperate-child arms.
it was silent, lasting only a moment
before our ears would adjust,
before a wave of awareness hit us,
worse than a bomb, worse than the remains of our homes,
resting against our toes,
because we knew those screams,
we became familiar with them.

and it was dusk, but above it was covered in light,
as our bodies were put to bed,
without our mothers, without our fathers;
but a blanket of ash to cover us,
and we'd choke on the particles
as it swarmed it's nails into our throats,
and we wouldn't breathe - we couldn't even conjure up the thought.

cries in our language were not known beyond these borders
but they were heard between a choir of people,
a bundle of bodies in a father's arms, as he kissed his sons goodbye


min faDlik…

…min faDlik
i still remember syria
Sayali Apr 2018
(i)
To **** a mockingbird,
Is a sin,
Like holding a full bloomed rose by its neck and snapping it,
(ii) To **** a mockingbird,
Is a sin,
They have eyes that reflect like diamonds,
Churned with the rarest shade of indigo and the tiniest bit of white,
They have warm hands and dainty wrists,
Their bones are fragile,
Their knees bruise easily,
Hair sways like a golden storm,
(iii)The mockingbird,
Hums tunes they hear,
They don't fabricate any of their own,
They're an open book,
A page everyone knows will not hurt with its words, (iv) But we wait,
Wait for the worst to drown everything innocent we have,
Watch as the mockingbird is painfully murdered,
As we pick up their weight in tiny coffins on our chests,
Shamelessly,
And then quote again,
" it is a sin to **** a mockingbird "
#SaveSyria
Matthew Roe Aug 2018
I saw a gigantic tree.
Uprooted and on its side.
The great roots forming a mane for the snarling ringed face on the stump.
But the fallen beast is taken, it’s husk a Home.
A vibrancy of weevils, ladybugs, frog hoppers, Cockchaffers that’s skittering, scattered like a smashed ant farm.


Around its base were prehistoric ferns,
Curled and scaled like sand lizards’ tales.
Reminiscing the demise of the tyrannosaur.
When dust clouds darkened the sun which warmed their claws.
The skittering skinks, slow worms and other small lizards, who need far less to survive, then feasted upon the monsters’ flesh and found a home in its bone structured palace.

As whale sinks,
Distorted into a globster of its former self,
It hits the sea bed hard in oil-Black darkness.
The hagfish burrow, starved for millennia.
Brutally tearing at the befallen banquet.
Mouths used to scraps choking on steak.
Getting their guts knitted as they squirm over each other to grasp some sashimi.
Dripping saliva as if we’re sweat in the ruckus.

Yeti crab pinch, as do isopods
But get only mucus insulting their jaws.
And they thought they helped to cut up the portions.

Soon all that is left is a skeleton.
Hanging in a museum for future generations to see.

Once again, dust gathers, from bombed out sand.
Erupting in the air as giants hit the ground.
We may soon again see darkness fall.
As the rayiys is skinned.

But no tears are shed.
We all cheer none the less.
About the current (2010s) conflict in Syria, referring to how all hint brutes will fall (tree, T-Rex, Whale) and how those who were below them (Beetle, Lizard, Hagfish) will thrive now that they are gone.

extra-
'Globster'=a carcass washed up on a beach that can't be identified, often mentioned in cryptozoology.
Afia Jun 2018
It was green before this torment
It was jovial before this storm
There was no stinging tear
But, the clamouring of fleer
My heart throbs with every breath
For I have swallowed a venomous drink of fear
My eyes are searching for a life
An intimate being they do seek
The winds whispered in my ear
‘All those are gone and some disappeared.’
The foul odor around is burning my soul
And the bawling of dismay is all I can hear
For the night is restless and it beseeches aid
I, here, stand still with my back on a spear
The world will recite my story, it will celebrate this day
And will sleep somehow after the vigils on the graves
Yet how I shall find the one who gave me birth?
And will he pay for my dreams with a fatherly stare?
Solace is not what I require
Words will no longer prevail
For I do not feel anything
It is now an eternal pain
The world has become a chaos pit.
Semicolon Jun 2018
War
The war ended,
The pain stayed.
My condolences to all those who've lost their lives, literally or proverbially.
Unfortunately, all I can do is offer my condolences. I do hope to help in the best way possible, I believe in the power of the pen. Today, if across the globe, pens scribble about the war, I am sure that we'd be able to help.
©Semicolon
Revolution is led by the young
The battle of oppression is near.
Freedom bells have rung
We've suppressed our fear.

and we die... as you observe and meet
and they die... while you drag your feet

The world watches our blood,
as it flows through the streets.
Politicians clean their hands,
with our defeat.

and we die... while you negotiate peace
and they die... by the hands of our own police
This suffrage for toleration has come too far to unwind.
Seems like a no win situation,
unless you emancipate your mind.

and we die... while you sit and debate
and they die... watching their women *****

The struggle against tyranny will continue,
until our dreams are realized.
My town, your village, whatever the venue,
our liberation musn't be compromised.

and we die... to be honored by the freed
and we've died... martyrs
our last breath singing nasheed

TG
Summer
Sara L Russell May 2018
Death of Aleppo
Sara L Russell   1st May 2018

When I saw your before-and-after
how I cried
  I died a thousand deaths
       on your bleak soil
a golden city built on hope and pride
  now rubble, bloodied waters
    and turmoil

Despoil is not the word
  to fit the scene
Annihilate seems closer
     to the mark
a land devoured by the war machine
  once here, a fountain
there a local park

In stark contrast to
  all that's left today
bereft of everything you once
  held dear
What went before is lost and blown away
  the aftermath seems now
   forever here

When we saw your before and after
  photographs
flat epitaphs of never-
   ending pain
condolences in tiny paragraphs
  appeared in hollow hashtags
     once again.
Before and after (the war) photos of Aleppo can be found all over the internet and in YouTube videos. Other countries (including the UK) often send targeted missile strikes when sending food and medical aid would be so much better.
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