Kites
Fly kite
Cut hands
Rob lands
Taliban
Children’s scars
Biblical fears
Commandments near
Steal not anothers' tear
Escape the evil hands
No music, no happiness
Dance your way to the Promised Land
Leave the blood and mountains of sand
The old ones die
So that the young may fly
In a new land
Without Taliban
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment