THE DEFEATED

I am the voice of the defeated, you do not need to know my name.

I have to speak to let you know, what it is like this miserable state.

I was called to arms one terrible day, to defend my home, my family, my religion, my friends and my land.

I had to forget and smother all the ties built up through the years with my enemy, my so recently very good friend.

I found it hard at first to drum up the hate, there were too many why's filling my thinking.

I was forced to join the throng be carried along with the mass pressure to fight the unknown or unseen wrong.

I heard the guns bark and spit out their venom and saw people die in a terrible condition.

I went without food most of the time eking out what I had, a bit here, a bit there, even then we still managed a bit of sharing.

I saw neighbour fight neighbour with a knife and much terror over the minutest of life's essentials.

I just want to live in the regular way, bring up a family, love them, and in Allah's good time just fade away.

I know this goal seems not for me, as I am about to surrender at Srebrenica. I am a defender you see.

I have till to-morrow to surrender my arms and await with what is left of my family and friends, wrapped in the womb-like protection of a cellar.

I know of a quotation, Oh, how does it go? ‘The quality of mercy is not strained, but droppeth as gentle rain from heaven’.

I hope it rains gently on me and mine in Srebrenica to-morrow.

Allah have mercy on us!

©️1993 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Source: Wikimedia Commons