Syria, 10th Feb, 2011. A.D
When the rumbles call for a strike of grenade,
It wasn't an angel writing on the wall for Syria.

"Anti bashar al-Assad." A prank graffiti portrayed on the walls

Of classrooms blocks. Not some fun the boys seek for a dry day?

Shaytan creeps in at the virgin of the day so even that the

Chador rend and flip outburstly!
Erstwhile, for before was a mumbling war of contempt.

Do you know it were the peace makers that fuel this smoke of

For Syasneh et al were denied going home in an horrendous

Maltreatment from the friends of the civilians,
And then were peaceful protest chamaleoned to an
outburst of war, the gospel of fire and the slaughters,

the songs of supremacy sang in the beat of violence.

And perhaps you don't know that the president was no hero,

For his subjects in a country of high living were herds of rebels

and that their interest matters not in that game of self adulation,

And this was a call that they needed to be taught
For they were all marched up to the frontline of hungry missiles, angry rocket launcher, weeping machine guns and thousands to the gallows that the noose turned tender as the ear.

And that there were women and children was not a frontier

To this unglorious uprising,
That when all may end in this story of woes, and we see

Syria stand on a heaps of rubbish and waste, a view from

Turkey while the whole world wear her blacks and mourn her

Then al-Assad may have a peaceful government, a peaceful rule

Where YES 'n SALUTE are the order of the day, and his subjects

i.e the desolates, mass grave, stenches of decay were no more rebels,

Then the remains of damascus may singsong the tale of mortality,

The galling tale of how a fourteen year old ignite the spark that engulf syria,

The episodic tale of how a country is driving towards extinction.