Poem -
A WITHERED TREE
I am a withered tree and my stories are tasteless. I cannot live with a boat. Here, on my land, there is no love, no poems, and all you see is withering death. Our homes are filled with bitterness, and our grass is not green. Our daughters are fields of sorrow, and our youth are mirrors of wars. Yes, we are victims of blind killing, even though our clothes are white, our feet are flawless, and there is no blood on our fingers.
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Comments
Well worded. I am reading this as a homeland. A desolate one now x
I feel for these sad and deep thinking words. Your work, dear Anwer, always
contain a very meaningful message.
Bernadete
Its sad that worldly super powers killed millions in Iraq just for oil.
This poignant poem seems to touch on that . Well written!
Plz also read and comment on my newest poem here,