Tuesday, April 1, 2008


Green, land
Buried, ridden
People, common people.
En masse
Fighting against Them
And They are colored, with Red
Guns, shells and cartridges.
Protests, false fragile forgotten protests
While we sleep with our
Window curtains raised

Crimson robes everywhere,
Bleeding in their color
Turning Red
The whole place
Roads blocked
Big achievements
And we still sleep with our
Window curtain raised.

History repeats itself,
They are colored!


ATAullah said...

i like the thought over here . It does feel like the style of putting it down overpowered the message but woah ! what better way to bring out the plight of soldiers .

Its sad that all we do is put the burden on them . whenever there is a protest , an evacuation , calamities etc. yeah they are bound to be doing that but what do they get in return ?
satisfaction ?
money ?
dua ?

ShAkE Inc. said...

nice style and flow...impressive :D

Aareet Krsna said...

There are few kinds of poems that appeal to me. This is one kind.