This misty air...........
Life as committed
soldier
In the
warfront, in the urge
and wake
of enthusiasm,
is life
to be celebrated worth
A memory
for years in history;
But to
be treated like a slave,
to be
exploited, to be put
on
garbs of starvation and thirst
a
memory and moment to be erased.
Together
in the same cell
Tied up to their stories
Of village
folk, to be behind
The scene
of horrid happenings
How long
– is their question.
Whole
city, whole air infested
With pollution,
poison and
Death
and acrimony, running
Beyond
remedy and guilt
has
left almost all, for their
need,
is the essential want of hour.
Slave
trade and trafficking
Brutal
argument with arrows
and chained
metals their
day’s
thrills
and ends
when
peace mantra of desolate
of so
many now left on trees and void.
from
far off a song of nothingness
amid mist , mist of torpor
and blood thirsty resounding
every
where. For some
only
hope is the solace.
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