Like a sick man’s pyre.
Smoke draping the massifs
The valley consumed by fire.
Conflict, hatred, mobocracy
Shrieking voices, marching feet.
Sullen dirges, the only music
Gunshots ringing in every street.
Militants slain by army’s bullets
In tricoloured coffins, soldiers sleep.
A silent nation mourns its sons
Wombs barren, the mothers weep.