They built them
Barbed wire beds to sleep on
And raised stone-pillar pillows,
They cuddled and kissed in the meadows
Licking the gore sweetened lips of Paris.
But in the battle of wills
I bury my fury with this poem,
Moulded from the silent tears
Of those who withheld their fears
And speak against terror.
I beseech the age of the mutants-
Mutations of war by belligerent militants,
Like two oxen on the same yoke
Locking horns, albeit a stroke
Would that make the wagon lighter?
Terrorists are saboteurs of wars
They imply to be freedom fighters,
Simply bequeathing orders of their masters
They are Knights of the dark world
They have no 'locus standi.'
a forceful writing with beautiful images, thanks for sharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An insightful portrayal of man inhumanity to man by religious bigots and political demons, who masquerade themselves as freedom fighters, elegantly penned with conviction. Thanks for sharing.