My Father's Land

One day foreign soldiers took my father,
the priest and others from the town.

Fear and confusion all around.
One day my father came back with all the men,
Protected by the Red Cross.
Bruised and weak, taken of the lorries of
peace, on land not my father's.

Now 22 years on, my father's land has hotels
built on it, Tourists travel from all across
Europe to this peaceful, beautiful land.

They try to forget that the land is torn.

My Grandfather's grave is no more,
The church is no more,
The religion is no more,
The school is no more.
Famous people build big beautiful houses
on my father's land.
Who will remember the truth of my father's land?

Chris Antoniou
Copyright ©2005 Chris Antoniou