Guilty Land

This is the land of savage sand,
Of grassless gravel, a barren land,
The path is red with spilled blood
Of men defending castles of mud.
Dead corpses are lying all around,
Bodies, in the shackles of hatred, bound,
Remnants of a reckless, worthless war,
Wasted lives worth a lot more.

There was a time when this land was lush,
Chirping birds livened this deathly hush,
The plants bore flowers instead of thorn,
Every dark night was followed by a morn.
But that was before anger was sown,
Violence planted, trees of hatred grown,
Before power and glory were used as bait,
And the world divided into ideologies of hate...

A silent witness to the savage transition,
From a dream world to that of destruction,
The land has suffered the blemishes of time,
A mute spectator to thousands of crimes,
Submitting to all the unholiness it saw,
Never raising a voice, not clutching a straw,
The landscape is as guilty as the rest,
For it silently suffered evil, never tried to resist.

~ Rahul Misra ~

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