By Diksha Srivastava
Restless heart
Plunges deep
Within its own
To silently weep.
It anchors itself
On the edge of the eye
And glides down
Bidding goodbye.
The walls are high
He built them on his own
He doesn’t breaks them
And only mourns.
Sirens of help
Are scoffed at
Pity filled eyes
Oblige with that.
Currents of emotion
Stay weak
Hinting at the destiny
That has turned bleak.
Grey and morose
Are the gardens of every house
With glee of every eye
Turning into an angry grouse.
No home to return to
No family to embrace
No more prayers
No more His grace.
Devoid of trust
And lament in his heart
The father’s cries
Pierces like the dart.
His wife on his lap
Two daughters lay by his feet
A newborn in his arms
All wait to be wrapped in white sheet.
Four lifeless bodies
Not one to call his name
Unfathomable is his agony
Who to blame?
Blood bespattered humans
Now identified as numbers
Innocent souls lost to rage
Whom no one will remember.
They have no solace
No place to retreat
Made fugitives in their own homes
This is how a War treats.
Those behind the mask
Who think they know it all
Equating valor with war
Are the fools who enthrall.
No land thrives
On the blood of innocent
There can’t be mirth
If your heart is violent.
There is not just one
But many restless hearts
Yearning for those
With whom they part.
Those deep wounds
Might never heal
From the misery of the pain
That their Silent lips conceal.
No psalms
Would ease their qualms
No wealth
Would bring them warmth
What is lost for them
Is lost forever
Their eyes look for home
Away from mortal life
To where their beloved belong.