The Calls

By Radnyee Lolayekar

Bombs, canons and the smoke

What all does this provoke

Destruction to the core,

The intentions rough and sore.

Those explosions, those gunshots

The fire, and the suffering lots

And those tall, firm men

With swords and guns ten.

A beautiful city, bright, 

Lit with thousand lights

Brought down to pieces

A peaceful pause ceases.

Those shouts, screams and cries

Those pale faces and watery eyes

Of those young and old,

Safety they were once consoled

No home, no nation

Worst is this realisation

They are then called refugees

With a life of disrupted peace.

Some survive, some die

Dreams they had of soaring high

A country gone, an identity lost

The emotion, more the cost.

Very few fellow friends 

Have the trends

To welcome them

And reassure them

Bodies washed away

With blood and wounds,

Taken by the smooth seas

Along their treacherous way.

The bad decision, the wrong intention

Of seeking popularity and attention

By leaders who crave futile power

At the cost of the subdued and lower

A destruction caused

A lifetime just paused

Asking for hope and peace

Is all what the innocent minds can release…..

By Radnyee Lolayekar