By Jyoti Prakash Mohanty
Under the rubble lay strewn
Flesh..Blood..Bones
In a shape unrecognisable
From their original existence
Of Men..Women..Children,
(Some unborn, ripped apart
from their mother’s womb)
Far away from the chaos
of an inconsiderate world.
The price of war,
No matter who started it
Nor who vowed to end,
Is paid by the ones
Who had far less to do
with the either.