Literature in a Locked Down Land

Brown people of the desert

I grieve for your suffering

And for the soldiers

Who just want to go home

But are trapped like you

In a fatal conflict not of their making

I would rather walk or ride a horse

Than rob you of the black sea

That lies under your ancient sands

This feeble pen seeks justice for what you suffer

I spill only ink you spill your blood

If the world be brave and not tremble

At the action of this teenaged nation

It would rebuke this brutal war

Declare perpetrators war criminals

All predatory war are criminal

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