In lands of ancient lore, where olive branches weep,
Amidst the sun-soaked sands, where ancient secrets sleep,
There brews a bitter tale, of anguish, loss, and woe,
Where swords clash in fury, and rivers crimson flow.

In the heart of Jerusalem, where prayers once rose high,
Now echoes the thunder of conflict's mournful cry.
Beneath the azure skies, where dreams once dared to soar,
Now lies a shattered mosaic, stained with blood and war.

From Gaza's barren shores to Bethlehem's sacred halls,
The cries of mothers mourning, the sound of crumbling walls.
Each stone a silent witness, to histories untold,
Of martyrs and oppressors, of stories yet unfold.

In alleyways of sorrow, where children play no more,
Their laughter drowned by gunfire, their innocence implore.
With every breath they take, they taste the bitter sting,
Of hatred's poisoned arrows, where peace can't take its wing.

Oh, land of milk and honey, now soaked in tears of grief,
Where every sunset whispers of violence and disbelief.
May hearts once torn asunder find solace in the night,
And may the flames of hatred yield to reason's gentle light.

But until that distant day, when peace may reign supreme,
Let us mourn the fallen bravely, let us dare to dream.
For in the midst of darkness, hope's flicker still remains,
That love may conquer hatred, and heal these age-old pains.
© Desmond Bitrus.