The River Of Stolen Iron Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

This land isn't quite at peace yet; the streets still breathe out whispers of fear, as if calm were fragile glass shattered by unseen footsteps.
The state's iron has slipped into many hands, flowing like a restless river into shadows,
where names are worn like masks at dusk, and truth walks dressed in borrowed uniforms.
They gather under the banner of "resistance, " like wolves cloaked in the wool of law,
smiling like sunlight that doesn't quite belong, bright in appearance, burning in purpose.
They grin like doors flung wide open, yet behind them lie rooms sealed in silence.
They smile like calm waters at twilight, while beneath, the current sharpens its teeth.
Again and again, the echo returns not yet safe, not yet safe, not yet safe a refrain woven into the wind, a warning etched into the dust.
Those who once shattered chains in darkness now walk freely in borrowed daylight, their pasts buried like seeds of fire, their futures rising in fields of smoke.
Some rise as "defenders, " like storms adorned with noble names; others march as "allies, " like mirrors that refuse to show a face.
And the land, it watches.
Like a mother counting her scattered children, like a wounded sky searching for its stars, waiting for a dawn
that doesn't wear a disguise.