Was!

Gentle plateaux and a little spike

My history is a divided past,

I am not, and there I was!

And here, back to am, at last!

Of the span of time which I like,

But why, I know, nothing to say

That little life, little spike

Counted the most by end of day.

Children of Yarmouk

Mamma is dry
And daddy,weak
My siblings,
Shot and sick.
I asked for help from above
But only came planes that roar
Laden with bombs of death
And salt to my oozing sore.
Mamma is dry
And daddy is weak,
It's now my turn
To go and seek,
For crumbs of food
Beneath the grass,
Hoping,one day,
This too shall pass.

Letter to oppressor

You excel me in links and ties
You might have the muscle might,
I am the human with little guilt,
But more conscience and will to fight.
Sooner or later but sure in time
Lost shall be your upper hand
While your  muscles shrink and die
My grand ideas will stand:
The idea of peace and love,
Human respect and dignity,
These are the weapons I have to spare
These are the muscles of eternity.

Fire and gold

Fire tests gold,
They say of old;
Fire I caught
And gold I sought,
I only  saw and all afar
A frightened molten brass
That only came to save a face
Once the fire had come to pass.

Little Powledge

Little power and little knowledge,
How lovely a couple they seem!
Little knowledge brings peril
So little power does scream!
Little knowledge and little power,
They have sort of a common pact:
To grow together or die,
Or forever remain intact.

Beaunity

Beauty and vanity oft than not,
Beautifully they march in vain;
Hand-in-hand with soft pride
Hand-in-hand with hard pain.
No person  before I saw,
Ever no person in 'dream
The beauty of your likeness
Might so remotely seem...
But fellow human, mortal being
Why forget the bigger part:
That what I see as your beauty
Is  just  like a piece of art...
A thing of  fashion that drags
The mere naïve into your trap;
A piece of art that some like,
And that some see just as crap?

Missing you

I looked around to many a mile,
But you were nowhere to smile;
I looked at myself in despair,
Wishing somehow you could be there,
But as if to make you hear, aloud,
Myself blurted  in protest,
Reminding me of all I knew,
That you are off on a day's rest.
"A rest from me or the world?"
I shouted at 'self in surprise,
You could neither me nor hear myself,
You hid too far, I surmise;
Too far, beneath the mountain foot
You hid under the silvery cloud,
That you could neither feel nor hear
N'matter how I shouted 'loud.