There is blood
There are wounded
Human sufferings
Sprawling the streets
Scattered all over places
On the floors
Pavements
In hospitals
Some caught while asleep
Others barely a day old
A graphic narrative of war
Piercing through the still night
Gunshots and blasts
With repeated cries
Groaning
Of the wounded and dying
As an orphan is born
As a widow is made
A graphic narrative of war
The price of war
That so much lives should be lost
For one life to live
That so much pain should be caused
For one power to prevail
Yet no war bring peace
Though it might seem to be
Tranquility of a ceasefire
Has never been source of peace
Neither a soldier who surrenders
Has never been a coward
To the enemy
And though a century might pass
And a generation is born
The blood that split planted a seed
A seed of vengeance
A seed of revenge
That a pin drop rattle could trigger a war
And those who held others captive
Could now be prisoners
For a war has never been
A source of peace
By Tiema HM
Tiema is a practicing journalist and a Journalism and Media Studies lecturer at Damelin City Campus, based in South Africa.
She is a poet and a playwright.
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