The victorious army marching in the conquered land,
The stick of band master, though dancing in his hand,
Was amazed and shocked as the wind instruments,
Disobeyed his commands in the changed moments,
Who changed the moments? The disciplined players!
No it was winds, tearful and engaged in prayers!
For a mother and infant breathing slow, but paralyzed,
His lips on her breasts, Oh God! Why so antagonized?
Victims of a neutron bomb, no sucking no feeding,
Flies on the faces, annoying, irritating and needing,
An active hand to repel the teasing dirty flies,
Alas! It's only ending in the unheard cries,
But the winds heard, turned wet with tears,
The wind instruments got rid of fears,
They started playing a slow tune so sad,
Man is still alive and he is not too bad,
The band master who obeyed His commands,
Forgetting the court-martial's all reprimands,
Slowed down his stick for a slow sad tune,
Music comes forward for the human's immune,
The helpless souls were freed from the cage,
The musician in a solder has saved my image.
Title suggested you must be talking about great music composer Madan Mohan but it turned out to be something else and what a fine poem on humanity's cry and the affects of war on people who survive. Loved it Janab...100++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
War! ! Helpless Souls. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.