Red sky over Homs
A faint riffle, a stirring
Of late summer breeze
Among the searing flesh
And the fly benighted airs
A brief hope of relief
From the deadly heat.
Meanwhile, over Damascus
The whiff of colonial pasts
exiles child
Poems
Red sky over Homs
A faint riffle, a stirring
Of late summer breeze
Among the searing flesh
And the fly benighted airs
A brief hope of relief
From the deadly heat.
Meanwhile, over Damascus
The whiff of colonial pasts
exiles child 
A good poem. There’s a whiff of a colonial present as well suggested in that last line.
Thanks. I was trying to convey the complexity of the situation, morally, politically, and strategically.
and you’ve accomplished it very well.
Just shared it on Facebook with a link to your Site.
Thanks.