The night has cast its shadow
Upon deserted streets born
Out of illegal conjugation
Of war and treachery;
Metal guns moan in sorrow
As false hopes relive in faces
Of widows and children;
A nonexistent thin line
Borrows mockery from dead
History, written by unknown faces;
Surrender is difficult when
Eyes are washed with blood
Of dear ones next door or of pets;
Caps are hung from nails
Just below the portraits of heroes;
To be taken and displayed
At the memorials made for
Those who gifted away lives
While redrawing the line;
Faces are burnt in cinders
Of untold misery when flesh
Fly like kites to be caught
By vultures waiting to catch
The doves in the time of death.
@Tiku 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem