The Children of War

The Children of War

You and I

are the children of endless war.

You, a child of the snow caressed mountains.

I, the daughter of the rose-scented valleys.

Fallen empires, bloody pilgrimages,

Resurgence of dead civilizations.

You, the exiled, splintering warrior,

I, the daughter of refugee caravans,

Both captives of war’s unforgiving procession.

You, hands bloodied and torn

raging against injustice’s rhythm.

I, a homeless, crooked winged bird.

You, the spring of your youth

naked at the mercy of the torturer’s whip,

I, an unfinished poem.

You, a broken pen

in the shriveled hands

of the sufi poet

finally forsaking love.

I, the sweet scent of summer rain.

You, the burning fire

on the mountain top

painting the dying light

in the name of freedom.

You and I,

are the children of endless war.

who recognized each other in the

muddied, flooded plains of war

watered by the flowing rivers

of blood.

You, my lyrical nye-filled nights,

I, the willing prisoner of your love.

Your eyes, my religion,

Your name, my prayer,

The sweet incense of your soul  

permeates me.

You, the lone light pouring over

the dusty pages of my deserted books

in the dead of the night.

I, a lonely, old willow

In an empty forest

whose trees have long uprooted

and migrated to safer shores.

You and I

are the children of endless war.

The children of women whose mountain homes

were made barren by their ravenous greed.

Whose mothers traded their rose gardens

for the thorny desert so that we could live another day.

Whose sisters were sold in the dusty alley-ways.

The blood of our brothers

water the besieged gardens

of this desolate land.

You and I

are the children of endless war.

Born from the falling dust

of their bombs.

Birthed by the chemicals

of their weapons.

Finding love in the rubble

of their destruction.

Our love a song sang

only by the dead

in an empty graveyard.

Hawzhin Azeez

2 thoughts on “The Children of War

  • March 4, 2019 at 11:58 pm

    Hawzhin, ‘The Children of War’, this is such an inspiring poem 🙂


    You, the warmth
    of a breaking day’s first rays
    struck across the vault of heaven’s rouge.
    I, a ghostly silver moon
    that hangs above the dry salt earth
    of a thirsty tomb
    whose cities of empty stone beneath
    lie heavy in a rubble
    of flesh and bone.
    You the golden lily smiling
    looking east
    to the mountain top.
    I, to diminish in a dying fog,
    sink to the west
    in rivers of blood.

    You and I,
    both ruthless children
    of a loving god.

    AB – 5 March 2019

    Chorus of a Thousand Dreams

    • March 8, 2019 at 9:07 pm

      I LOVE IT! <3


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *