What's peace to a broken spirit who lies in between graves and
sip memories from his tormented heart —
a gourd full of memories of loved ones in the grave site
a sip at a time and a tear at a time
— images of the dead in front lines.
what's peace if it's never felt by the torn and taunt skin that roamed the jungle. The thorns that prick their bones in the cold nights of winter, what's peace to those callused feet , those blurred visions and shattered dreams
what's peace to them who never dream?
What's peace to them who always scream?
— haunting nightmares and migraines
from the gun sounds, the music war zones far from joy
what's freedom if the chains of oppression still echo across the land ? And those whose eyes know not the pleasure of slumber walk with their heads down to the earth, No freedom for them who fought for it.
