Death of a Warman

As the sun bids goodbye for the day...

the city goes to a mourning sleep,

across the bends haunting guns sway....

and a lone warman makes a walk up the street....

The street which was once happy,

is now trodden land by death...

the messiah of conquer is what one can see....

putting the city to its last sleep on a shallow bed,

the bed which oozes out blood of its people...

the bombs which which have scarred deep..

this conquest was not for the feeble

and so the soldier marches on the silent street...

the carrier of death with a gun in his hand....

the glorious army uniform leaving its mark,

a proud distant land applauds this bloody land...

for giving away so easily the life of spark,

a blood stained bulletproof jacket on his chest...

crying out loud for the carrier of death to stop,

the blood penetrated where the bullet couldn't..

and this blood makes a teardrop fall....

the blood which belongs to some family in the other land,

burns up the soldier from the inside...

the solider stops and reads his hands...

and these instruments of death make him cry...

images of his home keep flashing in his mind...

his wet eyes see the hell he just made...

and the answer to all this,he can never find....

and the glorious instrument of death longs for a shade...

in this city the shade seems like eating him up....

the duty for his country making him brittle,

he searches for the craddle of humanity but can't find any....

the craddle where the sleeping humanity is still there a little.......

that night the war machine gives up...

and the soldier kneels down on this land for the first time...

slowly he secumbs to his own death,

the same death with which he used to dance all day....

and amongst the muslim bodies which lay in thousands..

there were a few americans as well who lay.......