Black Milk Of War Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad A.Yousef

In the thick of night,
where shadows twist and creep,
we drink from the dark well,
black milk of war,
rich and bitter,
pulling us deeper,
into the churn of chaos.

Each drop slides like a whisper,
filled with the anger of lost dreams,
memories stuck beneath the rubble,
where laughter once bloomed,
now only silence reigns,
a heavy blanket,
wrapped tight around our shoulders.

The sirens wail, a mournful song,
echoes like the cries of ghosts,
who wander the spaces we left behind,
searching for pieces of peace,
while the ground trembles,
beneath the weight of our choices.

Men and women raise their fists,
hammering at a world
that seems to forget the price,
the cost of a life spent in battle,
the faces of those who never came home,
etched in the fabric of our hearts.

Children play in the shadows,
drawing lines with sticks,
in dirt that churns with memories,
dreams of heroes,
wreathed in glory,
yet caught in the net
of frontlines drawn too close.

With every sunrise, we stir awake,
drinking that black milk,
as the sun spills gold
on the remnants of lost lives,
chipping away at our darkness,
but never fully erasing it.

The road stretches long ahead,
traveled by those unseen,
footsteps of sorrow
trailing behind us,
reminders of what was,
what could have been,
and yet we march on,
hands intertwined,
knowing that love sometimes blooms
in the ruins of war.

Let the black milk flow,
let it remind us,
not of glory, but of truth,
that hope is a fragile seed,
rooted in the hearts
of those who refuse to forget,
who tell the tales
of a world once lost
and a peace still sought,
in the echoes of our shared past,
as the sun dips down,
turning the milk to shadow,
its warmth a promise,
for tomorrow's dawn.