Sigris were cold in pundit hamlets,
People here were fuels to jihadi guns,
Wailing widows crying for slaughtered kins.
Terrified returning homeward their tired way,
As world a towering inferno to them.
The air was carrying a sad silent tone,
Weeping birds complain to moon and stars
Crying about the lost ones,
Who will never be seen again,
No memorials erected for those slaughtered,
As they were not mad vote machines.
In that method less madness,
Some might have slaughtered with a fire within,
Or arms that might have raised an empire,
Or hands that might have rocked the oceans,
Some great Vivekanand might be there,
Or some cherished Tendulkar,
Might have lost his blood.
All merit they had but sad fate,
Slaughtered for a status and crown
And their shivering bones remained,
Unprotected from insult and bloodbath.
Let not power mock their toll,
Sad destiny and remorseful smile,
And rude kotwals of secular trade dancing,
Multicultural dons will remain their,
To curse names and race for their trade
Bestowed with a treasure hidden.
On unclaimed pyre lie their corpses,
Unfortunate, cursed and unattended,
Nation mocking their poor faith,
Alas! Poor pundits of Death Valley.
,
By,
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
u r really concerned about terrorism n beleive me ur poems hav the power to spark patriotism in any Indian..........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dr.Sharma You are speaking to every soul Who lost somone Not died by an illness But killed in vain How life is brutal How can we treat Devil minds that can always domain!