Peace is for a dove to live in its small homeland

I heard her little voice

Flying from her nest

A pregnant dove

And in her hand is the last young bird

Where is the escape?

She said, "The war is raging

And the young ones will not stay

They will not remain

They will die

And a bullet kills the individual

And my little dove

And fills the graves

I took her by surprise and took the little one

We entered my hut made of mats

We hid under piles of clothes

And clothes and perfumes

And the sound of war still raged

Where is the way

And how to get out

Where is the path?

At the edge of the forest is a large river

And edges of fields

Of wheat and crops

My dove flies

The dangerous bullet struck her

She fell

I ran

In alarm I say, "Wake up, dove of peace

For everyone is waiting

For your talk of peace

Wake up, my little one

For everyone is eager to celebrate

The wonderful little ones

And the moonlit nights

And my tired parents

Rise up and carry us to Gardens of goodness, blessings, and arts. Defuse the fuse of war, the fuse of murder, and plant an olive branch.