It’s snowing in my land
Where blood still runs
Through the lanes
And wounds are still

Will somebody up there
In the clouds check –
the one who’s pouring
These flakes

Might it be my occupier
In his vain effort
To hide the lies
Of a “democracy”

To paint my land
All white and happy
And clean the blood
On its conscience
Then it may well

Listen to me-

The blood may wash out
With the snow
Into streams
But passing through
And the planes
Through rugged terrains

It will reappear in your
And your homes
When you open your
Tap to wash your faces
It will reappear in your dreams
And haunt you with my screams!

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