SYRIANS MADE A MISTAKE
Peacefully they had marched on
Voices raised, not fists
Pleading for freedom,
For a chance to breathe without fear.
But what truly is freedom?
Is it worth twelve million displaced souls
Cities leveled into dust
And dreams buried beneath rubble?
What began as peaceful
Became a wound the world blinked past
Sores etched into memory
Scars broadcast, then forgotten.
The headlines have moved on
But the grief remains
Mothers still hold pictures
Fathers still dig with bare hands.
We all say we want peace
But does peace bloom from war
Or from compassion that costs us nothing?
Why must love be so rare it becomes rebellion?
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