A poem entitled “The Fleeting Fantasy”

The nightingale s voice doth rend the innards,
Cries of the bereaved mother,
Tears of re--union--,
Fie upon you, who have slain her child!
The earth doth curse you, as doth the sky.
The blood doth flow like rivers,
Dost thou claim they are but numbers?

Beneath the rubble lie our beloved departed,
The earth doth groan,
Their cries rise up,
Even the rubble doth moan with the shrieks,
And a traitor who hath sold his honor in slumber saith: "Numbers to be erased."

Fie upon the semblances of men,
Fie upon the hideous heads,
A party led by that devil,
Who hath not acknowledged that I am that human being.

My heart with a pounding beat doth call,
O thou jailer!
The walls of my prison are encircled by fire,
Fie upon you,
Ye conspire and kindle the flames.

(Written on 23-5-2024)
This poem is a translation of my Arabic poem

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