Tripoli or Death

We went to be free,

like you.
We drink coffee

by Colosseums

and Roman roads.

Chatting by text

on our Iphones.

A once beautiful country

with secrets in its

archaeology,

I could be in Iraq,

Syria, Libya,

Egypt or Palestine.

Once I was a plasterer

then I picked up arms,

now I lead men

through steel storms

crying Tripoli or Die.

The first man I shot

got hit between his eyes

his head exploded

from behind.

I was surprised that life

was so easy to take

and went on with the business

of reaching Tripoli

or the blackness of death.

We made our goal,

with the help

of American bombs.

Which left our country

in ruins, now war

seems endless.

I managed to escape

to Italy, I sit in

a coffee shop

sipping an espresso

with my family.

Across the sea from me

the middle east is burning

The med is one side

paradise and one side hell.

A sea that separates

secular democracy,

civil war and budding

religious theocracies.

That isn't what we fought for

we fought for freedom too

just as you did in

world war one

and world war two.

The last place I visited

after Gaddafi died,

in the eye of the storm,

before many factions

began to brawl.

The Arch of Marcus Aurielus.

A monument to Roman rule,

a beautiful piece of geometry

and collective work

I held it awe,

standing beneath the arch,

I marveled at the keystone

that has kept it upright

for over 2000 years.

Then I picked up my bag

and waved it goodbye,

I was on my way to Italy

to be with my wife and child,

whose waiting for me

had been a hell to pay

every day not knowing

if I would survive

to kiss them goodnight.

Now we walk hand in hand

eating gilati and I hope one day

our home will become

what we dreamt of when

we screamed Tripoli or death.

By Anonymous (found online and recreated under fair usage)