I can hear the children crying
As each bomb pounds to the ground,
I can hear their mothers sighing
At each burst of blasting sound.
I can see the people fleeing
With child held close to breast,
I can see the masters laughing
Without pity or regret.
I can smell the dust of war
Now smouldering in the night,
Just like the day before
With no hope of peace in sight.
I can sense the sense of pity
Of all those who’ve suffered most,
Damascus, now a crippled city,
A shattered remnant of a hostile host.
And if I could span the seven seas
With a bowl of hope held in my hands,
I’d halt the flight of wayward doves with ease
And guide them back to tranquil sands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
tranquil sands, good write, thanks.