Mohammad Ahmad
11-01-2014, 10:14 AM
Once I stooped an hour nearby a station
People come and leave from different ways
I asked myself, why those irregularly move?
And up to midnight they still walk around
I saw an old woman took in hand a child
The child jumps and runs in full aspiration
Wearing a short trouser in his hand a kite
Smiling to everyone as if to all he is familiar
I noticed some brown spots on his left leg
Methinks, years ago, for me is acquainted
He is an orphan child of a deadly war
And his father was captured in a battle
He never comes and his fate is unknown
Saying to the mother, aren't you?
She cried and said please don't remind!
His mother was died and often his….
Methinks you know his father though you ask
Be careful and take your way straight as those
Never mercy remains except for God
Warriors never come but perhaps go hell!
Who is he the martyr, is our son indeed
And every home has one or two
War eats the dry and the green
And no one shall be out of its danger
War is often the hand of Satan
Allah the Great never order people to revenge
And always the peace is the key answer of all
Devastation and shedding blood, is shame.
Poor people strived in hunger and disease
And those rich playing gamble fear not
No faith they have but violating the taboos
They insult everything is sacred in the earth
Their desire is only to collect money to satisfy
And none will say, who is the poor?
Thus, we sweatily toil all life and they eat
And over our blood they dance and laugh
People come and leave from different ways
I asked myself, why those irregularly move?
And up to midnight they still walk around
I saw an old woman took in hand a child
The child jumps and runs in full aspiration
Wearing a short trouser in his hand a kite
Smiling to everyone as if to all he is familiar
I noticed some brown spots on his left leg
Methinks, years ago, for me is acquainted
He is an orphan child of a deadly war
And his father was captured in a battle
He never comes and his fate is unknown
Saying to the mother, aren't you?
She cried and said please don't remind!
His mother was died and often his….
Methinks you know his father though you ask
Be careful and take your way straight as those
Never mercy remains except for God
Warriors never come but perhaps go hell!
Who is he the martyr, is our son indeed
And every home has one or two
War eats the dry and the green
And no one shall be out of its danger
War is often the hand of Satan
Allah the Great never order people to revenge
And always the peace is the key answer of all
Devastation and shedding blood, is shame.
Poor people strived in hunger and disease
And those rich playing gamble fear not
No faith they have but violating the taboos
They insult everything is sacred in the earth
Their desire is only to collect money to satisfy
And none will say, who is the poor?
Thus, we sweatily toil all life and they eat
And over our blood they dance and laugh