In the dead of night, she’d toss and turn,
Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
It was uncomfortably warm,
Even when it was cold outside.
In the distance far away,
The sound of guns and military cries,
Drown the voices of those destined to die.
As morning breaks and day awakes,
Nothing’s left for them to call their own,
And the perpetrators are nowhere to be found.
The silent wails of orphaned children and widowed mothers. greet the daylight.
Everyone sympathizes,
But none can truly share their pain.
A mother frantically holds up the lifeless body of her child,
In despair and disdain,
Flinging invectives at the one she called her creator.
Allah, God, Yahweh,
Her faith wavering and her beliefs questioned.
To her and the others,
What is hope?
For God had forsaken them,
So how can they put their trust in man?
When it is he who brings war upon his own kind?
Sam Boama
Sam Amanquah Twumasi Boama is a student at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, Kumasi. As an aspiring poet and creative writer, he finds true meaning and feelings in the world of words. When he is not busy with studies, he enjoys reading books and poems or listening to music that sparks his imagination. Sam is passionate about poetry because it gives voice to the voiceless, and he believes it has the power to inspire, heal, and transform. Through his writing, he hopes to make a difference and leave a lasting impact on society.
Discover more from Teambooktu
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
This poem tells the painful story of how war destroys not just lives, but faith, peace, and hope. It begins with a woman who can’t sleep at night. She tosses and turns, sweating, even though it’s cold outside showing how her body is reacting to fear and stress. In the distance, she hears gunshots and the cries of soldiers. These sounds are louder than the cries of people dying, as if war has stolen even their final moments.
When morning comes, everything has been taken from the victims homes, families, peace. The people who caused the pain are nowhere to be seen. What’s left are the cries of children who have lost their parents and women who have lost their husbands. Everyone feels bad for them, but no one can truly understand the depth of their pain.
The poem becomes even more heartbreaking when a mother is shown holding her dead child. She screams in anger and confusion, questioning the God she once trusted. She calls Him by many names—Allah, God, Yahweh—but now she feels betrayed. Her faith shakes, and she wonders: what is hope when even God seems silent?
In the end, the poem asks a hard question: how can we trust in people or in God, when it’s human beings who bring such suffering on each other? It’s a powerful reminder that war doesn’t just take lives, it breaks spirits.