For every valuable teardrop shed . . .
This old poem is for the bleeding and fighting souls of Palestine, Syria, Iraq, Darfur, Arakan and ALL the Oppressed whose wounds are only deepening and seeping.
This is for children with lost childhoods, for the lives of loved ones stolen savagely and for every valuable teardrop because of robbed freedom only breathing in air of toxic oppression.
Simple but expressive.
I don’t have enough words to express my feelings after reading this poem.
‘It’s the Void left after they’re Gone,
The Memories shared,
The What and Who they lived For,
that makes it Hard to Bare with the fact that they’re Gone..
Everyone knows they’re leaving someday,
And yet we struggle every time we face the Death of Another..
It’s because we see a Long Worse life After them Gone,
Instead of just a Few days or years until we Follow them or Meet them Again..’
I could see those meanings in between the lines.
I wish there was no violence, wish that no innocent ever suffered.
So well written… Bitter but true.