War is more than a destroyed home and a shattered family.
It is a burnt-out earth with the smell of sulphur and ashes,
Scorched to the ground.
It is the greyness of the air that pierces through to the heart,
It’s the tears that can’t be stopped.
Which you can’t see,
They ooze only inside
And there’s no strength to show them at all.
It’s a child running
But there is no his mum.
It’s the wife who rushes to the distant sound of bombs,
Where her dashing husband should be.
The loss that cannot be counted.
It’s the suffering
Chokes, grabes by the throat like a whip,
Driving us to a state of despair.
When crawling and beging can be understood
That perhaps these last days you may be
Giving in to oblivion in the memory
What the world was like
Before day has arrived
When the devouring war broke in the home.