Drum Roll, Die
Life’s dreams of roses and colored glasses
Have been assassinated by explosions,
Devastation, destruction of homes and gardens,
Where flowers and innocence grew.
In their place, fog, smog, smoke spew
Chocking breaths and arrest hearts that drew
Their last drummer’s beat and fell in death’s pew.
When will their year of restitution
Come to being a realization?
When will they experience the exhiliration
Of being free without groveling?
When will their neighborhoods be overflowing,
Rehousing them, others, a community not governing?
Patience, faith, and unity will invariably
Win the fray always knowing the end is ‘liberty’
While social development soars accordingly.
©️ Malak kalmoni chehab ©️
Poetry for Change 