“Goodbye gift, from Bashar, it smelt of acrid deaths
It slit the soul, of my wakeful land
Snatched my Ahmed’s, Aya’s breaths
How many mass-graves, shall satiate, the lust of this quicksand!

Nine months’ worth flesh, of my bundles of joy
Is colder than the, blood of war
What’s left in Syria, to destroy
Besides bereaved, hearts galore!

Neither urchins, nor those playful lanes
Just craters gaping, at ruthless skies
Which lavish pain; lost are those rains
Which brought us rainbows, now seem lies!

How many clans left, to succumb?
To blood’s politics, death’s lullaby
How many fathers, for years to come
Say “Goodbye, Baby, Say Goodbye…””!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra