Nor an acre of crop to douse grief
Parched lands on a lifeless course
Migration seems the only source
Lives writhe for a fist of grains.
Neither a source to eke out livelihood
Nor caring parents to provide food
Orphaned children roam on the streets
O Mercy, do you dwell in any heart?
Lives writhe for a spark of love.
The clouds of war approach in haste
Ferocity on the verge to quench thirst
Innocents likely to perish in thousands
Destiny seems ready to issue commands
Lives writhe for a ray of peace.
Throttled by poverty, no way to stay on
Hunger rejoices digesting hungry children
Shattered by hopes, ignored by society
Fate unveils the other side of humanity
Lives writhe for a spell of mercy.
Ruthless and wild, violence spreads fear
Neither a father, mother or child spared
Nor a place of refuge to evade death
The vengeful death unfurls its wrath
Lives writhe for in search of a shelter.
The Blooming Bead Trees of New Orleans:
by Kristin Fouquet