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The war, or the power game,
two hundred days, world’s shame…
Maybe, goes on till the nation’s blast,
or till the piled-up arms last…
Whenever it ends, survivors’ agony…
Some sadists will wear their victory,
some will deck their gallantry,
others’ eyes and hearts will mourn
their loved ones, or their limbs torn,
man’s egocentric callousness
mostly, they will rear sadness…
Those who have seen rivers of tears,
corpses of their own, rotting,
bodies mutilated, cursing,
refugees running after the loaves,
would hear their piercing groans
in their nightmarish dreams…
Children saved by the corpses
Would live through the horror of being human,
mock at the concepts of love and compassion,
denounce man, civilization and evolution… |
