Islamic regimes rule this barren land,
Guns suck the souls of children
The lack of water has long scarred their skin into a sick leather,
War has mutilated them
You can still hear the pathetic screams of the lost people.
The people who float along with predominant bones.
"God willing, we will meet again."
Pathetic words spoken to a child,
But in this country they mean so much, more than life.
The dry river beds flow with metallic blood,
In the dead country of Sudan.
No beacon of hope glows for these people.
The Taliban's greedy arms stretch around the neck of a mere village child,
Wringing him of his final breath,
His eyes shut for one last time and he is added to a pile of bodies.