A Mirconation Of Dead Men Poem by Somendra Gaur

Where the rust of politics
survives on human conscience
I write about that land,

Where flowers bloomed and laughter echoed,
Trees danced
Kids played;

The sword-sque hedgerows of political opportunism,
Poisoned and then murdered the value-system,

The flowers have no fragrance,
Dead leafs fly,
The kids are the victim of hate-mongering;

Zephyrs flow in dried blood of slaughtered fraternity;

I think about a land where nothing can be solemnly resolved,
I write about a land where men like me reject love.