[.what for.] – a political poem/statement

They call themselves “freedom fighters.” 
What kind of freedom are they fighting for? 
Their president’s freedom to ignore every demand
of the civilised world and command his own people
to murder each other? 
Brother against brother. Father against mother.
Northern against southern families of many, 
hundreds of children, who uncannily look like the faces of those
who have burned and have drowned,
who’s been tortured and shot. 

They call themselves “patriots.”
Idiots. First you need a country in order to love it,
Protect it and cherish, to get and to give,
You have to live with your people’s future in mind,
the kind of fighting you do, you do for yourself.
Hell is your motherland, the Devil’s your guide.
Locked inside the mind of one person who knows
if he shows just enough of his power and will
he can kill every single thought of salvation. 

A nation is only defined by its battles.
We settle the score time again and again,
ten, twenty, thirty years – they shall pass
and, at last, we will have it, our dearly-earned freedom
stained with blood and with sweat of our soldiers and children.

He will pay. They will pay. 
We will win. 
Come what may. 


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