The Meaning In These Times

The days don't build up to Sunday no more,
The sun rises in the East as it is wont
So we sit by the window hopeful,
One day we will see a sunset.

Time is resigned.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick...
Silence, as time was poured like molten magma
In these times there's no meaning of time.

The battlefield shifted to our houses
Our roofs crumbled from the sounds of the battle horns
The horses charged and the horses charged

We are fighting an invisible enemy, yet
they swing their bats any way.
Blood and tears dripped from our drenched faces
And the enemy still advances

Our hopes lied with the fighters,
Blind only to the enemy so they clobbered anything they could see,
But their eyes were sharp enough to get a glimpse of us,
So we ran

Where no sin has been committed,
One will be assigned,
And it was due.
In these times there's no meaning of war.

Note: Don't be resigned to inhumanity

By Allan M. Kiptoo

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