'The pen is far mightier than the thrust of a sword'
Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 2:22 amOnce It Was Written
Once it was written, and all did applaud
'The pen is far mightier than the thrust of a sword'
No-one remembers all those who were slain
But oft poets works are read again and again.
I tell of a people who are no longer here
Not even remembered, no-one holds dear
There once was a nation, so strong and so proud
Now even their language is no longer allowed.
Thousands of years of culture and art
Now banned from a people, torn from their heart
Thousands of years of sharing and giving
Destroyed in a war where few were left living.
The joy of their dancing, sweetness of song
All this is banned and deemed to be wrong
Like a beautiful village, by a wonderful hill
If it hadn't been bombed t'would be there still.
Where children once played on a mountainside
Now from an army they run and they hide
Soldiers all laughing “You wait and see,
we'll kill so many, there'll be few left to flee.”
The villages destroyed, the people all scattered
but to the world none of it mattered
Millions were injured, thousands lay dead
While the rest of the world slept well in their bed.
Their leader was captured, tortured and ill
They published statements, but not of his will
Many people listened, believed what was said
For that very reason, thousands are dead.
“Justice for our Leader,” that was their cry
The army decided their leader must die
Wanting to stay neutral, the world held its' breath
And while the world waited, he was put to his death.
The people rose up with but one accord
World leaders looked on and acted bored
Down from the mountains, like a river of fire
Burning and killing, their only desire.
The people fought on, few guns in their hands
Fighting to the death, to get back their lands
The world said “Oh my gosh! What a terrible plight
we must help the poor army along with its' fight.
The world was asked what it had in mind
“We'll sell them some weapons, it's time we were kind
It's time we looked after these chaps, don't you know
all that hard fighting, such a terrible show.”
“We'll sell them some guns, and aeroplanes too
Our armies will show Turks just what to do
The larger the weapons, the greater the loss
We'll soon put them down and show them whose boss.
No-one cried “STOP! all this is wrong.
This is where peacekeeping forces belong.”
Now that the death of their leader was past
No-one thought things would happen so fast.
“We'll avenge the death of our leader,” they cried
And rushed into battle, with right on their side
The army decided, some bombs it would drop
on the unhappy Kurds, that'll make them stop.
Blown limb from limb, scattered and dying
So many injured, children left crying
The people fought on through the streets of the city
No-one said stop, no-one showed pity.
The war went on for many a year
The few who are left, still live in fear
No-one knows how many lives that it took
No-one had time to stop killing and look.
I think of the horror and write of it still
For though it's not happened, I fear that it will
To the Kurdish people, your help you must give
Give them their freedom, that all may still live.
Anthea Harding-Power 2002 ©
Once it was written, and all did applaud
'The pen is far mightier than the thrust of a sword'
No-one remembers all those who were slain
But oft poets works are read again and again.
I tell of a people who are no longer here
Not even remembered, no-one holds dear
There once was a nation, so strong and so proud
Now even their language is no longer allowed.
Thousands of years of culture and art
Now banned from a people, torn from their heart
Thousands of years of sharing and giving
Destroyed in a war where few were left living.
The joy of their dancing, sweetness of song
All this is banned and deemed to be wrong
Like a beautiful village, by a wonderful hill
If it hadn't been bombed t'would be there still.
Where children once played on a mountainside
Now from an army they run and they hide
Soldiers all laughing “You wait and see,
we'll kill so many, there'll be few left to flee.”
The villages destroyed, the people all scattered
but to the world none of it mattered
Millions were injured, thousands lay dead
While the rest of the world slept well in their bed.
Their leader was captured, tortured and ill
They published statements, but not of his will
Many people listened, believed what was said
For that very reason, thousands are dead.
“Justice for our Leader,” that was their cry
The army decided their leader must die
Wanting to stay neutral, the world held its' breath
And while the world waited, he was put to his death.
The people rose up with but one accord
World leaders looked on and acted bored
Down from the mountains, like a river of fire
Burning and killing, their only desire.
The people fought on, few guns in their hands
Fighting to the death, to get back their lands
The world said “Oh my gosh! What a terrible plight
we must help the poor army along with its' fight.
The world was asked what it had in mind
“We'll sell them some weapons, it's time we were kind
It's time we looked after these chaps, don't you know
all that hard fighting, such a terrible show.”
“We'll sell them some guns, and aeroplanes too
Our armies will show Turks just what to do
The larger the weapons, the greater the loss
We'll soon put them down and show them whose boss.
No-one cried “STOP! all this is wrong.
This is where peacekeeping forces belong.”
Now that the death of their leader was past
No-one thought things would happen so fast.
“We'll avenge the death of our leader,” they cried
And rushed into battle, with right on their side
The army decided, some bombs it would drop
on the unhappy Kurds, that'll make them stop.
Blown limb from limb, scattered and dying
So many injured, children left crying
The people fought on through the streets of the city
No-one said stop, no-one showed pity.
The war went on for many a year
The few who are left, still live in fear
No-one knows how many lives that it took
No-one had time to stop killing and look.
I think of the horror and write of it still
For though it's not happened, I fear that it will
To the Kurdish people, your help you must give
Give them their freedom, that all may still live.
Anthea Harding-Power 2002 ©
