This fall, would last, yet one more year
When dust, will whisper, tales of fear
The stumps, which were once, verdant green
Now shout, out bravados, from spent spleen!

Shh! She rustles by, don’t dare, feign dead!
Lest she sniffs, out life, from your dying breath
Where your brethren, screamed out, till they bled :
“States breed patriots, for their, prized death!”

Smell the, stinking faith, of chivalry!
Of men, who kissed once, barbed fences
How brothers, lived their, lands’ rivalry
For a, war of, political pretenses!

That lad, we shrouded, in our flag
Proud martyr now, did keep, his word!
When died, yet sighed, from his body-bag :
“War is, life’s substance, deflowered!”

Since history, blooms on, blood of men
We breed, a new one, with new wars
To keep alive, a myth, amen!
We are, worth more, with our ‘manly’ scars!

In a fist of dust, see man’s defeat
In the pride, of life, death’s lasting strand
Hear the pain, plead, in passion’s heartbeat
“Don’t farm, future’s fear, in wars’ Wasteland!”

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

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