Are they shrouds, or dressings, o’er, riddled hearths
Hope’s, rainbows’ shades, heal, war-torn hearts
Where, myriad, purged dreams, now, seek rebirths
Mozarts, mourn, no more, Bonapartes!

Can art, console, a wounded, soul
Shallow murals, o’er, broken walls
Will ever return, the present, past stole
Land pays, for ages, lost war’s, tolls!

They seem, caricatures, of, hurt ethos
Life’s relics, searching for, existence
Can death, diminish, the human cause
Our fortitude’s, enduring, substance!

Blood-scribbled, epics of, pride, hate, and pain
Can’t be, smeared away, to disappear
Yet, brave in vain, the human stain
Graffiti, Of Faith, In The, Land Of Fear!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra