Saturday, June 6, 2009
The little Boys
I am in that plain
Sooty with red stain
Cloying smell of corpse and blood
The Suffocating smell
The smell of burning flesh
Where am I Transported to?
From the cushion of air conditioned room
I hear the growl, the grunting agony
Who is that? Anybody there?
My yell resonated
And back to my ears…
But I am amidst the spirits
Spirits of the martyrs of that wildness
Saunter around me behold me in hype
Their lenient eyes with ardent quest
Enquired a lot to my soul
“Why and What for they did that?
Brutal fight to innocent us
What did they earn from that?
Nothing but, our ablazing dreams”
The little boy with old fat man
Did Trojan ballet upon us
True man got truly proud
And stood as if he revolves the earth
Poor men! They didn’t knew
They are in baleful battle
Which will demolish not them all
But the entire living kind
I got scared of those truemans
Living around, around the globe
They are in tiring attempts
To make little boys again and again
Dear Martyr spirits!
Wait, wait for me too
I too may join you
When they are behind, the little boys