There’s blood on the pavements

Blood on the streets

Hot blood splattered 

On autumn-chilled concrete

Blood on faces

You thought you’d never meet

Until one day they’re famous

Not for any special feat

But for being survivors

Of a heinous deed

An orphaned child, a corpse with no identity

A widowed mother, a torn family

What will it take 

To save a grieving country?

Will this state of mourning

Ever cease?

Blood has become a familiar scene

On every news on every screen

Whether you’re going about your way

Or you sell your soul to a political party

Martyrdom is an unescapable collective destiny

One day you’re alive, the next you’re some casualty

Blood is cheap, or so it seems 

Villains claim responsibility 

For their bloodshed games

But the crimes go unpunished

And are merely shamed

There’s blood on hands

We never get to see

Blood stains on our nation’s fabric 

Weaved with sectarian hostility

It’s beyond comprehension

How we never learn from history

Perhaps a half-ton of TNT 

Is enough spark to ignite our short-lived unity

Perhaps the sight of gushing blood

Would break the silence of our complacency 

Not long before we go back to our comfortably numbing routine


Author: Zeina

I'm a Lebanese translation and editing professional. I mother two adorable children, a 7-year-old hero on the spectrum and a 2-year-old princess just launched on her terrible two's! Juggling parenthood and a home-based freelance career is no easy task, especially for a (hopefully recovering) perfectionist. This is where all the writing and poetry come to my aid, as a source of inspiration, hope and emotional well-being. Poetry is the spark of creativity that ignites my rather mundane life. Spirituality is what keeps me focused on my purpose.

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