The fog hadnt yet lifted on this cold December day, from the streets of Peshawar A young boy woke up to his mother’s rant, And with a sudden dread of the shower. His mother packed the lunch and Kissed him goodbye. He held his father’s hand who told him, “Don’t forget to wish morning to the passers-by.” The young ones sat in neatly arranged files When they heard a loud blast, instead of the awaited bell What was that? Pray! I wish I didnt have to tell. All at once, the entire school rang with shots The children screamed and held their friends so tight The Lord saw it all And wept at the piteous sight. The bullets pierced the young ones’ flesh The fools who held the guns thought they were blest. The flow of nascent crimson saw Death, he entered the room and bitterly wept Said he, “The smallest coffins are the heaviest.” By the time it was over, more than a hundred young corpses lay Mothers wailed in horror, the fathers’ hearts ripped from their chest What cowardice! What sin! What nonsensical brutality did those men show, On this cold December day! Over a hundred young ones dead. Over a hundred poems left unfinished. To what end? To feed some religious vanity? On this cold December day, lay dead humanity! #fanpost - Anubhav
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 11:48:30 +0000
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