Where fire fell

Where Fire Fell


I am the strip of unfortunate land,
Lying barren for decades
For I cradle blood-soaked soil.

I am coveted, encroached,
Yet beaten down by broken missiles
That burst above me,
Burning my people alive
A grotesque spectacle,
Lighting the sky
With firecracker-like brilliance.

The saplings I helped sprout the other day
Lie in ashes now,
Alongside charred bodies
Scattered across me.
With every fallen body,
I shudder in pain.

I wonder—
What do I tell the toddlers
Wandering wide-eyed,
Searching for their mothers?

That the lights they clapped for in the sky
Were not celebration,
But destruction?
That beneath their feet
Lie the remains
Of those they once called family?

The houses that sheltered them
From sun and rain
Are burnt to the ground.
I’ve seen the wealthy crawl,
Their riches turned to ash,
Begging for food
In the dirt they once looked down upon.

Above me,
A gloomy sky broods
Gray with warning,
Heavy with silence.
I sense it-
The next attack.
Gifted weapons lie in wait,
Hidden in hay,
While puppet strings pull
From foreign lands.

I am the victim.
They are to blame.
For years, peace has been postponed
While foreign guns and missiles speak louder.

The sky explodes
Again and again,
And I,
With chest open wide,
Absorb every blow.
I wish for rain
A deluge so deafening,
It silences the rockets,
Washes away the smoke,
Cools my burning skin.

So I may,
Once again,
See those toddlers smile.