You know Chechnya, sometimes I cry
We could have, but we didn’t try
To save you from the enemy’s eye
You know Chechnya, sometimes I cry

You know Chechnya, sometimes I hear
Your voices that have known no fear
Mourning those, who once were dear
You know Chechnya, sometimes I hear

You know Chechnya, sometimes I see
A dream that was but couldn’t be
Fight, for freedom is never free
You know Chechnya, sometimes I see

You know Chechnya, sometimes I touch
My naked soul, limp, on a crutch
Perhaps alive, and yet not much
You know Chechnya, sometimes I touch

You know Chechnya, sometimes I feel
Those wounds that time can never heal
Feel the pain yet not reveal
You know Chechnya, sometimes I feel

You know Chechnya, sometimes I smell
Blood and tears of heaven and hell
Their difference only death can tell
You know Chechnya, sometimes I smell


Tauseef is an LSD eternal. This poem was written with Chechnya in mind but replace the word with whichever war-torn place you want. (This piece was earlier published here)

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