Lump of flesh
Stains of blood
With no identity left
Mincing of bodies
Who can gather
And who will count?
The blood oozing brow of that newly married bride
At the heap of coagulated morsel of blood
Oh! Those iron-willed mothers
And flowing tributaries of water stained With red down through their eyes
Eyes with no motion left
And heart ceased to slide
A beloved nephew was promised
Gift on his following birthday
Excited was he
The young soul ran
To the sight of traffic of vehicles
A sullen wooden box with all due animation
Housing coffin draped with Tri-colour
An old wreaked father
Beyond any consolation was not ready
He was not ready to believe in the news
He was not ready to see
The dastardly deformed corpse of his young son
He was not ready accept the distorted anatomy
He gave a young brave son to the nation’s army
“Not an inch less in height
Length of the shoulder was perfect
Chest was noted in equal measure
And ever smiling determined face
What are you are returning me?
I don’t who is this?
And where is the face?
And the right hand?
Oh come on! Say you are kidding.
Say, it’s a prank.
Don’t fool me before April falls.”
The inconsolable father cried.
And that very young child
Began to cry seeing his mother crying
Does he even know the cause of tears?
When his reason will grow
And make him ask about his father
Will he be prepared to swallow the truth?
Negligence, negligence, negligence
Reducing living breaths into dust
And dancing deaths
Martyrdom, thou art so painful yet full of pride
The thick year filled with pity and pain
Tears each one apart
Deadly gloom cupping the eyes
And blinding the world
War begetting war
Vengeance begetting vengeance
Reason left grazing in the barren desert
I wonder O God!
If peace will ever prevail.