BENEATH THE MISSILE SKY

By: Bushra Firdaus

Prickly grey clouds hover in the sky,
Screeching cries of innocence —
Flares of war over sweet homes;
“Firing for protection” is a lie.

In the rubble of a school
That held the shape of future,
Where laughter was once nurtured,
Now lie books open like a tool.

The culprits of Epstein files
Drew the sword of an enforced war,
Decorating missiles like stars,
And smudging innocuous smiles.

Raising the flag for freedom, they say,
While assembling pieces for a new puppet;
Control over the world is what they covet,
And questions drift silently away.

No one to name the wound,
None to mend the body’s frame,
None to stop the flame,
And no one to gently croon.

As an “existential threat,” civilians are marred,
Suffocating the world in ashes;
Tears fall and moisten our lashes —
Leaving our souls permanently scarred.

Amongst the iron comets and drones,
Unwary officers slipped beneath;
Few beloved departed without a wreath,
Beneath the aloof ocean’s moans.

Iran still breathes the spirit of Karbala;
Yazids may sever the crown, yet never force a bow
A Pharaoh may thunder for a temporary glow,
Yet they cannot blaze above Musa’s “umbrella.”

While the leaders trade warnings,
It is the children who hear the sirens;
Violence breeds only silence —
Shadows linger, and bodies keep piling.