We, no more can…
We, no more can hear the whims of children abandoned in their shattered abodes. Unknowing
the reason behind anxious guardians, missing family members and changing definition of food.
How long they will be subjected as “nothings”, and stay bare any reliable, bare any food and
bare any shelter.
We, no more can look upon the hopeless visages of adults wandering numbly to find anything;
but that anything can be everything for they are in hand with nothing except for whimpers.
How long are they to wait for the morning sun to shine glory on their faces, setting them free of
all this unwanted hustle.
We, no more can hear the echoes of micelles, bombs and refiles turning the only land they
want, into pieces of nothingness; large stretches of eternal love and faith turned into rubbles.
How long the land which once held abodes made of happiness and desire, continue to slave as
the instigator of the conflict; yet witnessing collapse of what it held adamantly like its infant.
We, no more can look upon the silhouettes of morbid human, forcibly disbanding the lands they
dwelled on for ages, bore infinite of memories on and witnessed themselves stir through.
How long they are to face the identity crises of their existence, oblivion of the nuance that they
can exist without any conflict and far from the insencious treaties.
- Kritika Rana