The cloud didn’t place its dark face on the sky
The lightning didn’t give a red flashlight
The thunder didn’t send ears scary tunes
Only sudden deathfall on every roof.
Oh! Poor plateau
Scent of splitted blood
Scent of breathe from bullet sticks
Scent of pains and tears
That turned the land metaphor of war.
What do I call
This deathfall from unpredictable weather?
I pray may peace flood away every noxious tool
© Yusuf BM