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Promised

what,
Is it to say-what i am going to say?
I don't know.
But
the died dreams
will not wish canan lands,
blood of the child,
who doesn't know-
who are you,
and who he was him self.
Ever-It is their plight,
to be cruzified.
Since the god
decided to throw them
to deserts.
But that old truth,
older than the holly lands,
older than books,
and the prophets.
Our father,
my, your, and their-
his seeds on two wombs,
brother-we are one,
Think before you take the gun,
and before the cries of
innocent childen.
Before you fight for your religion/nation.
your brother is
killed by your arms,
she is your sister,
who begged to her child.
You may be jew,
you may be muslim,
or christian,
but you are killing your own blood for centuries.
For what?
Which god told you-
that this is for the faith?
He didn't called us
Jew, muslim or christian.
Dear my brother,
shall we stop?
For our children,
for their dream to live.

poem by Muhammad Mirash
Added by Poetry Lover
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