Harps of a Muse

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I’ve seen silence silence the muffled cries

of a wounded soldier; abandoned, by his own comrades.

I’ve seen him hold on to the fading light desperately.

And I’ve heard tranquility sing his funeral

for I sang along with it.

But my voice breaks at the

beat of your war drum.

My heart fails at the sight of blood;

blood trickling slowly down a forgotten lane;

a lane that once harbored happiness and

unfettered laughter.

My words, they can’t bear to

sound over the clamor of death and destruction

the hubbub of all the burnt down bridges.

And my senses fail when people

proclaim this destruction, progress.

 

My staccato warble

and trail into a crescendo,

as I stand blinded in the

middle of a war field.

Blinded by the past

blinded by memories,

of what once was a child’s playground.

Of what once was happy, unbroken and bright.

Because, when all our lives

Are rumbles and stones

crumbling to ashes,

from the forgotten playgrounds that became land mines;

To schools that went from teaching peace to preaching war;

To the endless smoke that rises up every night.

We cherish corpses.

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And we lend our bones and souls to that war drum

as we dance to that lifeless beat.

We pledge our souls to our borders

only to kill of another member

of our own species

for our confines plagiarized our significance as humans.

As we stand now;

blinded by the smoke that rising high

from that everything that fell…

This poisonous smoke, poisonous, more than

smoke bombs or screens;

a smoke that feeds the generations to come

as they seek blood

A blood for the blood their fathers had shed,

To quench the thirst they were born with.

and now everything just falls into the smog.

The blinding smoke.

And I breathe.

And I let the battlefield explode.

Armageddon.

 

-Arun Bharadwaj

 


Image source: pixabay.com


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