After A War Poem by glorious alice

Brutalities never become handicap
Unlike vulnerable human being
Souls seek their wounds –
Inner and outside
Sun’s rays and rain drops kiss-
Roofs’ inwards
Broken stones from the houses –
Mingles in their (fond memories) nostalgia
Walls still analyzing
Why they shoot us, are they mad?
Insects despise the land and will search another part
Men’s atrocities could be seen –
In stillborn babies’ grave
Everywhere funeral services – but
No vicar – no laments – no ritual
Fewer mourners than dead
Nevertheless
(Spooky) warmongers peep – coming
To pick remaining lives.
Corpses still fasting on empty streets
No one heeds their demands
Only looters plunder bloody possessions.
Street dogs and wild eagles are insipid
And rebuking that –
A festival after a decade.
Mothers’ screaming that
Don’t walk on my kid blood.
Oh! ! Shelling makes yelling.


A war may or may not bring a solution…
On the contrast, it certainly cripples the inhabitants:
“Not be a visionary in war, be an illusory in war.”