Poetry

Storms through the chinks of chaos
Put out the lights of possibilities
They called it as war of necessities
They made these barren lands fertile
With the blood and dreams of the “futile”
This garden is, but sepulchres of unknown
The chariots of age will carry their souls
To the lands which they never know
Here, years back I will pray for you my bosoms!
To devour the elixir they forbidden
Even in stupor’s last layer not try to remember
The memories of your bitter past
Stay there till the last tree breath last
Be there till the last hill, river lasts
In a bliss of truth and beauty
Apart from war and booty
Keep your warriors on your brow
Like Ulysses they may come
With seeds of mayhem to sow
Teach them the gist of love and beauty
Send them back to their own homeland
Let them craft histories new
Sans war, crime and atrocities anew

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