“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil,
Is for good men to do nothing.”
It's a quote routinely attributed to Edmund Burke.
"I have no right to post this.
Here in my ivory tower where nothing is amiss.
I eat when hungry and drink when I thirst.
Feel pity for those babes, but I always come first." The Poet.
A child is precious no matter where they be.
So who could inflict such agony?
They say the end is near,
If the crying stops by a child so dear,
Sweet might has no strength left to cry.
The mother must sit and watch the babe die.
Donations given but aid cant get through.
Great suffering by hunger, if the aggressors only knew.
To be black
Is to constantly run
Maybe that's why they stereotype
Saying we are fast
Speaking of fast
That's what they say when a black girl has a nice ass
Because being black and being a woman
Means that it's our fault
And we deserve it
To be black
Is to constantly fight back
With the hope we won't be attacked
Funny how we are the aggressors
But when we look at history
They kill us for being
For existing
For having the audacity to exist
To breathe the same air they do
Which is why they probably put their knees on our necks
As they take away our breath
Saying we cause them stress
While they suffocate our heads with the hatred they spread
To be black
Is to be punished
For our own deaths
Where we are murdered
And they are praised
For a life they took away
All in the name
Of wanting to keep the world safe
From people who wanted peace
And were met with a gunshot
If we dared to speak
To break the silence
That they've spent years trying to instill into our internal systems
Until there's nothing left
But to accept
That to be black
Is to forever be quiet
Who knows who are the casualties of war?
Are they the wounded, maimed, and all the dead?
Who counts the orphans, widows, those displaced?
The untold truth, a light on this can shed
I also am a casualty of war
My soul is wounded by the grief I see
The war is raging here inside my head
I am held hostage, longing to be free
Survivor guilt is ravaging my nights
The blast of bombs, a morbid wake up call
Though I'm alive, I feel so dead inside
Like those cut down by hate, I take a fall
Destructor's cravings are insatiable
The sites destroyed include those of my mind
My tears pour down with that of martyrs blood
Like refugees, a haven I must find
A lesser casualty, yet I am one
This war is altering my very soul
I am ashamed to claim a numbered place
Yet war affects the country as a whole
Aggressors will not stop their rampant rage
The toll of death goes higher every day
Who counts the living dead, devoid of hope?
The shroud awaits the ones this war will slay
The casualties of war exceed belief
In Lebanon, war's reign defies relief
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The Untold Casulties of War
An extended sonnet
November 1, 2024
God,
One day, will you tell my why
little babies have to die?
Children starve while mothers cry
Deadly bombs drop from the sky
God, tell me. Tell me why.
God,
Feel the ground about to shake
People buried in the quake
Rescue missions are at stake
Hearts you made weren't meant to break
God, tell me. Tell me why.
God,
One day will you please explain
Primal screams all laced with pain
Healthy minds now gone insane
Slashed wrists causing crimson stain
God, tell me. Tell me why.
God,
Do You see this genocide?
Children have no place to hide
Sniped and slautered, rights denied
Bodies burned, the wounds split wide
God, tell me. Tell me why.
God,
Families are torn apart
by aggressors with no heart
"Torture, maim, erase from chart
anyone who won't depart!"
God, tell me. Tell me why.
God,
Hurting souls cry out to You
Vengence waits, I know it's true
Now, Lord, now...what can we do
as our hearts are torn in two?
God, please tell me.
God,
Seared in conscience are the dead
Lying here upon my bed
Why them and not me instead?
Wakeful thoughts are filled with dread
God, is heaven up ahead?
God, please....tell me.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Activist acting against oppression of occupation and aggressors.
WAR AGAIN
war again
here we go again
in the the lanes of smoke blood and screams
air from my and your mouth filled with black words of cries
of innocent
and of the aggressors
anguished souls are flying around the world
for the relief
for salvation
no one agrees on the this war
yet again it is again upon us
tears of children and refugees
sweeps the floors
war is again
upon us
again upon us
We all crave peace in the Middle East
and an end to the war in Ukraine..
World democracies huddle to stop
the rubble and halt those aggressors who maim.
We see the innocents suffer with out any buffer
where death and destruction now reigns.
We empathize with their agony thru daily doses
of this tragedy yet the heavy blood spilling remains..
As it tears at our hearts we can do a small part to
bring peace to our planet again..
We must weed out all thoughts of anger from loss until
light in our heart remains.
Just one small thing at least, as we pray for world peace
at the dawn of each new day..
When we get our thoughts right and our heart candle's bright,
we may lighten some lives far away.
l
Life is a debt,
One needs to abate;
Followers, they are right,
Aggressors, they will be guided.
Like the North Wind,
Sent by Boreas
to lay driven snow, pure
and white, an ivory
whirlwind blows
through my living room.
The rodent, pink as
embarrassment, flies
with the speed of a
crossbow bolt loosed at
full tension. It’s woolen
body, firm but pliable.
The ashen animals
bear claws sharp as
thorns, attacking with the
ferocity of a defensive
rose garden. They strive
for the kill, dilated pupils
take on the shape of
fully waxed moons, the color
of pitch; an eclipse of
bloodlust. Eagerly, but
methodically the blanched
aggressors approach the
rosy mouse and with
muscles tensed, as taut as
moorings, they leap.
Their lithe, slim, dextrous
bodies fly through the
air. In a blizzard of ferocity
the rodent is struck down
and the ivory whirlwind
abates back into a pile
of freshly driven snow.
1/12/23 for “Metrical Tale”
Sponsored by Hilo Poet
Enable behaviour of selfish hatred
give them thrones head of states sit
protect, excuse then celebrated
God Complex and rightful place is
grow aggressors manipulating
apply pressure til devastation
never revaluating
breed their greed and fowl festation
Claim their victims exaggerated
or deserving pain they self created
over time you'll learn your fate is
you and them both isolated
Whilst justifying what went on
with every friend you had now gone
all tiresome of being wrong
this fact you told all all along
Now every friend you had is gone
you're the victim done no wrong
can't you see what's going on
your fake pretentious brain's a bong
Fingers that deflect from you
blaming victims as you do
bend the facts and hide the truth
live where no one lives but you
A world you made all on your own
pushed away the ones you've known
all to keep and love the throne
powerless and overthrown
Alliterative adjectives
Are like poetic additives
That rearrange raw rhythmic rhyme
So sonnets sound more-so sublime.
“Aggrieved aggressors,” “Angry Aunts”
“Outraged oppressors,” “Haunted haunts”
Are all alliterative bits
That prod poor poems into hits.
Consider how this very verse
Without alliteration would be worse.
For con-sequential consonants
Create quaint quotes of consequence.
Hatred comes in many a grade.
Divergent backgrounds will leave some swayed.
Aggressors will rarely share the facts.
They hide and trawl and wait to attack.
Kindness is not found in their hearts.
Antipathy and malice tears them apart.
They look around for power to gain.
Depraved contending is now their game.
Rogues will come and rogues will go.
Sadistic victimizing is now their goal.
Awfully imply they test our decrees.
These fainthearted consignments are never pleased.
These words are ghostly voices
Heard from the ruined of hunted houses
Unheard by those innocent ears,
tormented by accomplices who sit in fear
These words are writers’ thoughts
Fertilized when their ink meet their papers
Bringing forth testimonies of those unheard
These words are stars at night
Unseen when the moon illumines the night
Radiates yet during night’s darkest moments
When the moon has lost its light and might
These words are sounds of a trumpet call
Sounded each day by poetry’s angel
Summoning the aggressors,offenders, to change
These words are rumors in our societies
Beautifully coated, unfortunately ignored
They are the silent screams of society’s atrocities today.
Pups, imps, joeys, wiggling tailed marsupials, hunting in parties of five.
Deadly facial cancer has killed lots of us, it’s a wonder I am still alive.
I screech when I eat, carrion, my utmost favorite food, road kill.
My aggression insured me at babyhood alive I would be still.
There were fifty in my litter, but only four teats so we scrappers had to fight.
Growling and viciously, snarling at each other, slapping away nice ones in the night.
Our mother was grabbed by a caveman devil who dragged her off by the neck.
I was incensed, and promptly chased after them, thinking “what the heck?”
Some of my siblings were frightened out of the old hollow log,
not many decided to stay.
I was not one of them. I showed my teeth,
and my aggressors promptly ran away.
Wombats, wallabies, opossums and other animals on this island of mine.
Steer clear of my hollow log, knowing I will
snap them up and eat them in no time.
And who makes false the truth, in time
be it aggressors so complied
with tyranny that life does youth
their motives, while the young are tried!
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