Under the grasp of the blazing sun,
Here go a battalion of soldiers on the run,
They got the city under siege,
And all that was left back was desert breeze.


The sirens of the brigade,
Burned the city from the inside.


There lie the corpses in a heap,
And they have been skinned like the sheep,
No one’s left there to weep,
The Army blazed away everyone in a sweep.


The silence of the dead,
Can be felt on the outside.


Down go the families of the newlywed,
Dead are the children sleeping in the bed,
The bodies slowly begin to rot,
And the flies begin a buzz riot.


The last rites of the dead,
Are completed by the mere flies.


The future citizens will be petrified,
On seeing the bodies being putrefied,
The bodies lose signs of recognition,
There sinks the pride of the nation.


The silence of the dead,
Has many listeners on its side.


Under the realm of the setting sun,
There go the soldiers retreating with their guns,
Before they even realize,
They had brought down another civilization.


The common sense of the man,
Has vaporized into thin air.


Man has left another scar,
In the foolish name of war.

[This poem is dedicated to all those who lost their lives in a gamble called WAR]