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  • Writer's pictureMario Mainland


Updated: Jan 5

in days long since when two people emerged in dust, and hanging world war smoke

- the cogs of victory turned to rust -

and echoes persist from another land

- lingering power, control, and money lust -

letting broken promises fade away and choke

on shifting lines drawn in desert sand


fickle as the politician seated at the bar, taking his news from the paper stand

- picking at egg yolks and caviar -

and studying the points of the David star

- leave them, let them fight, let them choose -

or be guided by a foreign hand:

you have nothing to lose but headlines on the evening news


more apt to kill than any hangman’s noose

- this is our world in denial -

from ice cream dripping on my child’s brand-new shirt

to faces and bodies and futures covered in blood and dirt

- the forgotten children of Palestine and Israel -


hoping when next you bend a knee to pray

asking God to spare your life today,

remember the sunshine

falls on us all the same,

forget the borderline

regret the blame

and instead you

turn the cheek the other way.


A tribute to the children of war-torn countries.

Regardless of who the lands belong to, whomever lays claim will only ever be a matter of perspective, but the children all suffer the same.

A lesson to everyone. While you strive for some lofty ideal, justified by beliefs, fueled by a history tainted by conflict, those that deserve the future you are fighting for are the ones losing – a mother, a father, childhood, or their lives.

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