Homeland pain...!!!

How many and how many stories
Pain
Whenever we say we're done
Death has returned as a croak
Painted red succulents on the ground
homeland

No night, night with the sound of a cannon
Nor does the day rest from
adversity

Life tax crowded death
Or death tax knives
In the soul, it grieves and increases
weakness

No heart returned heart
Nor love returned love
Nor is the artery pouring out
Except pus standing
blood

Unload the pain
calm the soul
To fall asleep on the pillow
woven from oppression
illusion
.
Cartridges on a neglected bed.....

By Ihsan Abu Hadeer - 12-7-2021