Broken wills inflicted by the guns’ butts,
Many hopes and dreams smashed and shattered.
On the women cast they their lots,
And the men’s brains gunned and scattered.
Infants’ cries searing the pensive air,
Breaking pregnant silence with fearful rhythms,
Severed from their mothers by the cruel hand of death,
The fruit of the nation’s schisms.
Broken shrapnel, acrid smell of gunpowder,
Singing deathly dirge in our numbed ears,
Leading us with its murderous power,
Charging the air with the dementor’s glare.
And these our have endured,
For we are the survivors of war.
*eMoji*