By Debarpita Datta Ray
A white gown with silver hairpin
She ran along the river southwest,
Surrounded by the mountains pristine,
Crafted by bullets in the chest.
She ran along the Hindukush flanks
A white rose she left at each grave,
She stood before the blood and gunfires
That ever captivated her as a slave
She landed in Nigerian camp
Kissed the li'l charcoal black cheek,
And left there some velvet tamarinds
For the little ones, poor and sick
She placed her touch, gentle and sweet,
On the hungry stomachs of earth;
She hugged the ones, homeless and losts,
Made them all rise above dearth!
She waved her hand, all the war stopped
Moonlight cutting through the dark,
She took away the flood and bushfire
Summoned spring of symphonic lark.
She came to our midnight dreams
Being the ones we lost on our way,
She turned into a white flower vase
For the ones who with us couldn't stay
I asked her who she was! if I knew!
As the dream came to an end,
The white gown, silver hairpin
Said to me, ''Peace', I was named!'