Tandra Mishra | Wednesday, 01 September 2021 | Print
Blood, bayonets, broken bodies,
Bodies mutilated, torn, separated
Wounded severely welcome deaths
Houses burnt, children orphaned.
Helpless pregnant mothers standing,
Breaking the dreams of new mothers
Without doctor, without treatment,
How can she expect a safe generation?
Standing the woman beside the door,
With a lovely heart, with fanciful imagination,
For her lover, waiting more and more,
Almost losing consciousness now,
hearing the destruction.
Unaware is the face of that girlchild
Who recently in a strange war, lost her father,
Now come at the hands of cruel world.
No one is there to take care, no one to stand by her.
Stop this cruel game, stop this drama.
This world is for everyone, every child, every woman.
Why is it so hard to hold talks to keep the panorama?
Where go the voices? Where goes the pen?
Why are the bullets and bayonets seen only?
Don’t break the soft, gentle earth,
don’t break the dreams of many.
Before touching the bayonets,
remember the faces of the innocents.
Remember the unborn who,
in the womb, now breathes.
Posted 3:39 pm | Wednesday, 01 September 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | Faruk Ahmed Roni
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