Aftermath Of War Poem by Rohit Pandey

In the late winter evening, appeard a mousy lady,
furtively shambling across downs,
she reached the deadly battleground.
illuminated with cold moonbeam,
varnishing everythng milky, and evoking a feeling of being in blood stream,
with rotting dead, liked by devil king.
squatting on sorrel blood soaked sand,
wailing for her slayed husband.
musing a long elegiac story, heard only
to dead ears lying there free.
the glaring spring of her eyes frothed,
lacking its shine and are downcasted.
the verdent field of her heart furrowed,
pleading us to leave this specious trodden road.
india's a raceme stem with diff. flowers,
but soon will turn into thorny haulm,
war's a morass situation,
and i don't knw what's to be done.
- rap