It was just a regular day
In Syria where
Children played in the street
And a bomb fell out of the air.
It was not the only day
Where Death brandished his scythe.
For seven years rebels struggled
Against Assad’s sharp knife.
The civil war that rages on,
The corruption and the savagery,
The bombs that keep raining down,
Fuelled by hatred and gravity.
When the children gazed at the sun,
They heard the whip of blades,
Where the sun should have been
Was a helicopter’s heat haze.
Without a merciful warning,
No sympathy at all,
The chopper’s belly opened up;
The bomb began to fall.
It crashed to the floor in Douma,
Gas seeped out from its pores.
Men, women and children were dying,
Banshees were wailing from doors.
But as if it never happened,
Just as if nobody died,
Russia is calling it fake news,
But it was a war crime.