Here Was Our Home

This is the remnant
Of the place I once called home
It is no longer whole
The spot where we once spread our mat
That has become my brothers' grave
Buried by shrapnel
Let the diplomats continue
You dine and wine at the state house
See;the war is not on television
We are not winning;
Play no politics with our pain
We are nowhere near victory;
for today hundreds died at the market
But you chose to bribe the news reporter instead.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace