The Echo of the Anemone

To build a wall, one does not need to be a bricklayer,
to play a game, one does not need to be a trick player.
There are ways to achieve without taking the worn path,
even equations won't explain this complicated math.
The betrayal of soliders on the blood of the motherland,
bounded by the same oceans but staining different sands.
Inside, pumping blood to the beat of the drummer,
the vessels break, these pipes ain't fixed by the plumber.
Each drop that falls, another victory against the casualty,
casually a casualty, but what happened actually?
Unable to forget, this ain't USB memory,
the memory an entity, an endless anemone.
The anemone poisons, its a life long enemy,
and each victim looks up and says "why you ain't telling me?"

The past, present and future echo in our echo,
when our pleas go unheard, we hear the echo, "let go".
Mind over matter is why these atrocities are committed,
while the truth is omitted, the soldiers are acquitted.
The voices from the past linger but not permitted,
transmitted intel,  but nothings admitted.
Reports are submitted, yet the lies are knitted,
the defected piece of the puzzle- it ain't ready to be fitted.

The tears have made wet, the dry riverbeds,
the valleys are full of our liver and heads.
When the plundering starts, our livelihood is gone,
even the invaluable heirlooms that once stood and shone.
When the raping starts, its the song of screams,
and now the dress is ripping right at the seams.
When the murdering starts, there is no pity or care,
bodies, tears and a lot of blood to share.
Genocidal values or the indifference of the being,
that's what being a human being is truly meaning.