Child of war

His gun, he wears it on his shoulder; his morals somewhere in the trash. PHOTO: REUTERS

The child of war loses his mind; as bubbles of fire from yonder rain,

His youthful eyes no longer shine; he looks at all with much disdain,

The war shall leave in its remains, a man afloat, a childhood drowned,

A family was smashed and maimed in a sea made of clamorous sounds,

Out of order alphabets, scribbled across his only book,

The walls, although, his best work yet; displaying all lives he took,

His gun, he wears it on his shoulder; his morals somewhere in the trash,

Emotions die as he grows older; his torrid heart now only ash,

Upon the prisoners he has freed his narcissism and his pride,

Evils of heredity and creed, are his only foes and by his side,

Anaesthetised, dead and numb; his torment is not to be told,

His mocking honour’s made him dumb, the scorching desert’s made him cold,

Anarchic birth is celebrated, objectives of hatred revised,

Barbaric instances are stated, with great aplomb are plans devised,

Today, a rebel is unveiled, to do something they’ll all condemn,

He aims to not let peace prevail, through his sadistic stratagem.


4 thoughts on “Child of war

  1. And when she saw that people have started adopting her style following her path, she stopped for a while, relaxed, took a deep breath and went on to cross the stream from the wider end in a single leap — done with ease… dominance prevails… she is and will remain the best..

  2. No words. Keep it up Imaan 🙂

  3. well written………

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