As The Four Strong Winds Surround
north south east and west why cant man make the best?
Life is a story book and as I cruise through every leaf, every stage.
I read with confusion, a heavy heart, sometimes in smiles at every page
Memories of my mother’s days of war with restrictions, for a while.
Their tensed nights, safe shelters and hopes for a better life style.
Found lands, new ingredients for courage with dignity, to stand.
Hoping for the space-time, where life will be just a wonderland.
We swung high, swung low, felt the world with no cramped cage.
Now a deafening melody plays, lyrics ooze out in desperation, rage.
Echoing voices, a march tuned to achieve a victory for the masses.
Choking in a polluted air of smoke designed with toxic gasses.
Hands tied, lips sealed, uncertainity, a wet pillow as slumber creeps in.
Fearing the dawning of a new world, where peace seems to be fast dying.
Strife and pain that dominates the earth seems to be the only destiny.
None can escape, trapped between the sky and the deep blue sea.
With half-truths feasting in the anger of doubles, troubles less free,
Standing firm rooted deep seated love and gratitude over grown
Hopes of a sweet fragrance, with variable dialogue soon to be sown
Wandering aimlessly, hoping for better days with every sun rise
Soon History will have a vast collection of many a surviving cries!
poem by Shirani Ibrahim
Added by Poetry Lover
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