Friday, September 30, 2016

Life Lost

I look behind at the place I called home,
Now just a pile of rubble, a mountain of stone.
The place where my son laughed and played,
Now reeks of his blood and his pain.
We were happy, with the little we had,
Now left with nothing but sadness in hand.
It took one strike, just one blow,
To reduce us to another number, another story of sorrow.
The ground where we once played,
The street where we freely roamed,
All turned to a war zone,
A place that's just become a shadow of my home.
Now sirens fill the radio waves,
Smoke, the once starry skies,
In the fight for peace and humanity,
I lost my home, my identity died.
I held my bloodied son once when he was born,
Now I hold him again,
This time though his lifeless corpse,
Leaving me numb, leaving me bare...

By Zoha Tapia