Skies of my land used to blue
Birds from the west were the only one that flew
They had long destinations to reach
Dreaming how they would live and give birth to life
Skies of my land are now all black
Filled with plans on way to attack
They too have destinations to reach
There they will just kill
In my little hamlet by the foothills
We were kept warm with fire chimneys and smoke
Some still spills out from the rubble of my village
Spewing into the skies like souls of dead hope
Me and my friends from across the hills
Used to fly planes made of paper
I now fight my enemies from beyond the hills
We now fly jets and our swords are sharper...
This, like the one below, was written during the Kargil conflict. Not great poetry or even interesting reading, just the ramblings of a 19-year-old who felt disgust at the killings.
Birds from the west were the only one that flew
They had long destinations to reach
Dreaming how they would live and give birth to life
Skies of my land are now all black
Filled with plans on way to attack
They too have destinations to reach
There they will just kill
In my little hamlet by the foothills
We were kept warm with fire chimneys and smoke
Some still spills out from the rubble of my village
Spewing into the skies like souls of dead hope
Me and my friends from across the hills
Used to fly planes made of paper
I now fight my enemies from beyond the hills
We now fly jets and our swords are sharper...
This, like the one below, was written during the Kargil conflict. Not great poetry or even interesting reading, just the ramblings of a 19-year-old who felt disgust at the killings.
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1 comment:
Hi, I liked your blog its my first time here! If you are interested, go see my Tai Chi related site. Its purley for peoples health.
All the best John
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