Middle East, Canada
And the cold, and snow
This winter, Special
From my room; and inside
I observe
The snow and lost ones
On the tree, small hawk
A cockroach and something I don’t know
Could it be spider?
I can’t say, it may be
It is brown; is ant-like
This winter,
Special
Syrians are dying
Those around are calling
Hands freeze in pockets
Hearts and minds are rockets
Too busy with concerns
The needy abandoned
Palaces have furnace
Wine is served to the pets
Love and care are long dead
For wealthy shall we care?
I do not…I do not…I do not
Do I hate?
I’m fighting…I’m fighting…I’m fighting
To avoid…to avoid…to avoid…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem