A battlefield is where souls are set to sleep.

Leaving a rage of feelings that cuts in deep.

A war was set by the upper head for the unknown future just ahead.

Is it right or is it wrong, a question for an answer that will take forever long.

It’s a scene covered in red,on top of a mountain full of the dead.

As the rain pours it’s tears, to wash away our sins.

Gone before blinking their eyes, those who will never say their goodbyes.

While the ones who remain will walk on the road of pain.

This is a small price to pay for surviving the so cold day.

A piece of our heart will stay, wishing to never fight so we pray.

• Murooj Azab