The Dove of Peace

Crawling through the chest of poetry

On a land that smells

Not of خاک

But of gunpowder

After the missile bombardment of dreams

I search for the shelter of your hands

O borderless dove

Our exhausted earth

Can no longer bear combat boots

War

The sun shines blood

And our livelihood

Has clotted, as always!

And how strangely children become birds

They say: Reality is bitter.

They say: We had no other choice.

News agencies once again keep weaving

The grown-ups make decisions

The little ones die

And blood is the only poem that flows

And these wounds will never heal.

Survivor

The war ended

But I

Am still alone

Still empty

Still in pain

And still afraid

Like an apartment

That has been struck

By a missile!