In the camp of dreams he s sitting on his balcony
in Aleppo;
the lights of his city now dimmed
the street blackened and empty
the clatter of crockery indicating life goes on somewhere;
in the dark
a distant rifle shot
a shell preceded by an ominous whistle
for someone is leaving the planet;
a child perhaps, his mother waiting for him
her throat dry, knowing not his fate
perhaps already a shroud.
The old man stares from a tent in Italy
plucking an oud; across the road a bakery
missing the scent of rose water and pistachio
the picture album in his mind needing revision.
.
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http://nena-news.it/siria-aleppo-senza-tregua-a-rischio-il-piano-de-mistura/
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Pictures in my mind, Frank. Nice work indeed my friend.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Syria, a country and a culture destroyed, and for what? Was it not better under the Dictator’s rule? Now the Dictator and his allies will win, but what has been won when it is all over? What future is there their for anyone? Rubble and blood and a lost generation to hate.
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