Liberty? by Yasin Shah

The bombs are dropping.
The guns aren’t stopping.
Tanks roll over corpses,crunching bones,
Men of both sides lay wounded and groan.
The air is filled by a phosphoric smell,
Surely, this is a reincarnation of hell.
Frozen, I lay in the blood of a friend,
Will I die here, will this violence ever end?

I lift up my head and gaze at the carnage,
The ground is littered with glowing cartridges.
The village is alight with a fierce blaze,
Its villagers hanging from branches in a uniform way.
Flies,rats and birds come near,
Taking pieces of flesh hither and thither,
My face is frozen and numb is my skin.
What did I do to deserve this, someone tell me my sin.
They stomp across the farmers fields,
Crushing the years produce under boots of steel.
Sweeping soulless gazes over the land,
Looking for “enemies” whether child,woman or man.
With inhuman efficiency they destroy the buildings that are left,
Poisoning the taps,streams and all the rest.
Methodically they make their way to where I hide.
I close my eyes,trying to hide myself deep inside.
An expedition team roams a foreign land,
An insignia with a globe and the numbers 3015AE stamps their arm bands.
 The parchment is preserved under a peat bog and two mutilated men.
The words are scratched in blood,but written elegantly and well.
The corpses faces are caught in a twisted scream,
Whatever happened here has already went and been.
Dear diary,today we found a land from before peace spread wide and far,
The landscape tells stories of many a conflict and bears many a scar.

A Message from the Fallen by Yasin Shah

You have us trained,

to accept these chains.

That entrap us daily and keep us “sane”.


Are we meant to be pleased,

with being treated as fleas?

We’re not oblivious to the truth, we can see!


You’ve entrapped our bodies,not our brains.

Your efforts to control us are nothing short of lame.

We are not peas in a pod, yet we are one and the same.


We will rise up and seize,

all you have brainwashed us to believe,

and tear and rip it piece by piece.


You may try to hide,

behind the many times you’ve lied.

But the truth is out and you can’t deny.


This new world order bluff,

of which we’ve heard enough.

We will rise and thoroughly crush


Over resources you’ve squabbled, over lands you’ve vied.

With blood of innocents, bullets of murderers you’ve signed,

Many a peaceful society lives.


But we below you are hardy and tough.

You may draw us up and hang us by the cuffs.

But still united we’ll stand, your efforts not enough.


You’ve silenced many known and unknown faces.

Regardless of colour, regardless of races.

Yet it’s mostly the coloured you’ve wasted.


Still united we’ll stand,divided we’ll fall.

The fight against exploitation,we’ll answer the call!

Knocking down what comes in our way. Fence,barrier or wall.


You will not stop our pace,

the revolution moves forward with haste.

Reducing our enemies to powder and paste.


We will knock down the buildings,knock down the walls.

No matter how large, or strong, or tall.

You may stop some,but you will never stop us all!

A Modern Struggle by Yasin Shah

Emaciated, skin taut, rib bones protruding.

Glamorous, well known, fame pursuing.

Not tens or hundreds, rather millions.

A rare occurrence, 1 in a billion.

A “lowly” existence from cradle to grave.

Unknown before, yet globally welcomed through fame.

Sustained by crumbs littering the floor.

Banqueting daily, in three courses or four.

Living life as a struggle day by day.

Spending unnecessarily in countless ways.

Accepting and pleased with how they are born.

Changing with scalpel and plastic, under self scorn.

Poor and destitute, yet still holding pride.

Shameless and faithless,sleeping with any man,woman,beast or child.

Trekking countless miles for impure water.

Consuming a beverage brought for a quarter.

Conflicted by countless years of drought and famine.

Complaining about rain, sun, thunder and lightning.

When fallen ill, they lay there, death all they await.

A sniffle or cough, the private doctor notes the customers state.

Six feet deep, a stick marks a final bed.

A golden tomb with a life sized statue from toe to head.