Member Poem

(On Civil Wars & Ethnic Conflicts)

Smoke dances where the rooftops stood,
Ash blankets what was once the wood.
The echoes sing of war’s embrace,
A song of blood, a grave’s soft lace.

A mother’s cry—a bullet’s hum,
The past is lost, the future numb.
The child who plays in shattered streets,
Knows laughter brief, where silence greets.

The banners wave, yet colors fade,
Once proud, now torn, in crimson shade.
What creed, what cause, what whispered lie,
Can birth a land where children die?

A brother’s blade, a father’s gun,
A war that ends with no one won.
The soil drinks deep, the rivers drown,
A nation’s ghost in tattered gown.

Yet war’s cold lips still kiss the land,
With greed-worn hands, with lawless brand.
The generals feast, the leaders gain,
While nameless faces bleed in vain.

But even fire will burn away,
And even night gives birth to day.
A time must come when wounds are closed,
When hate dissolves, when love is sown.

Yet echoes linger, wounds run deep,
The ghosts of war will never sleep.
A child may rise, but scars remain,
And peace still limps through dust and pain.