Conflict Poem by Hanan Muzafar

I remember those days,
when people used to shout slogans,
from their lungs:
we'll do this, and we'll do that.

Many dead, many injured,
and many in custody;
Some even made, money and fame from this,
but I'm still alive, somehow.

People forget, and time changes;
Now it's silence,
Silence of stinking dead fishes,
and some cats, trying to catch rats.

Those who speak rights, use and abuse them,
conflict also gives birth to hypocrisy:
What I learnt from this:
Trust no one, who's right here?

For me;
Peace was living in small room,
with cat, and fish bowl;
At least, those little fishes,
were alive in my jar:
Tree withers from root.