Happy and content, he sleeps on his bed;
Along with so many of his proud brother’.
The green meadow, stained with patches of red;
Some still smiling, some travelled further.
Black clouds darken the bright morning sky,
There is an eerie silence engulfing the air.
Shattered dreams, the infantile closed eye,
A sense of loss choking the atmosphere.
Scars and wounds, mutilations and demise;
Triumph of victory fades under screams of agony.
Wailing of widows and mothers, the deep sighs;
Smell of gunpowder heightened by undue gluttony.
The people at the top celebrate and rejoice,
More stars, more money, an overnight sensation.
The people at the bottom got no other choice,
Than to fight against poverty and inflation.
So many buds get nipped before they bloom,
This curse poisons youthfulness and peace.
Centuries have passed, the curse still loom;
Will the suffering of innocents ever decrease?