Poem: My mother

Every time I see pictures of the dead bodies,
I think of my mother.
Every time I hear about another war crime,
I think of my mother.
Every time I see tears,
I think of my mother.
I think of my mother,
Who thinks that one day this will lead to good,
Who thinks that one day someone will come and say ‘thanks’,
Who thinks that seventy, seventy percent are with them,
Which means they are right.

My mother who was so afraid –
‘What if the west just had attacked us?’
‘They have been preparing it for years little you know’ -she’d say,
‘Those chemical factories, Nazis – we had to protect ourselves!’.

Every time my heart aches,
My mind breaks,
I think of my mother,
My mother, who cannot see that our future and that of millions of sons and daughters are ruined just now, here and then,
For what?

‘I cannot come home anymore, mother, they won’t let me be free’
‘Why? I don’t think it is true’
‘Our president said that we are betrayers’
‘Oh, no – that’s wasn’t about you!’

Another day of war,
Lost lives – tragedy known for many – obvious one.
I think of my mother ,
Who thinks we are saviors,
Tit for tat preachers,
‘People will thank us – one day, you will see’, she says