War: Poem

Cacophonous words clash and clang
Cluttered ink callously smeared
bleeding across lines

Between the stilled pauses
lie crouched conflicts
Wailing war cries
waft in the void

Half sentences sort-of phrases
hang in the aching air
hovering in terror
Strikes stilling protest
muffling urgent words  
need to be said

Worlds in disarray
Lives distorted
The nib scribbles on
disconcerted 
by our dismay
distant, deleterious

Destabilizing commas
disorienting 
Suspicious semi-colons
dangling false hope
Yet, the awaited full-stops 
never prevail

Horrified by iniquitous display
Reprehensible design
I long for innocence
an unwritten page

Refilling inkwells
I shut my eyelids
in hopes
they reopen to a 
cotton white parchment.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

A small tribute to the lost lives and a fervent prayer for peace

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Civil war: Poem

I looked through the window
Birds chirp beckoningly
Scent of morning air wafts
I can almost taste
crisp grass blades
Skipping children, booming adults
gossip, sipping hot coffee
Brotherhood is in the air
I cherish the songworthy city

I wake up from my dream
I look through the window
Songs of the dawn are
sirens and shrieks
the stench of blood reeks
I taste sheer panic
a family divided by distrust
drenched in gas canisters

Air strikes are pikes
to the eager heart
Barrel bombs leave no
scope for a fresh start
Secret police turned traitors
Snipers beleaguered my street
I’m a one-man army, weaponless

Battle lines are unmoved
much like political aspirations
and cultural prejudice
that cost innocent lives
I wail for the broken city
Homes turned into rumbles
No brothers, only rebels

I look through the window
I see nothing
Darkness has come for us
I want to return to the dreams
but I can’t find my sleep

War Zone- Poem

I threw myself into the fray

Ready to strike, stab and slay!

In the dangerous play, much to my dismay,

My kin slaughtered; The kingdom ceded

Handed over in a gilded golden tray.

I’m cast Adrift , due to a familial rift,

Would you believe? I still have

warriors to gift and spirits to lift.

Hear the percussions of the death rattle-

Haunting reminders of the long-gone battle.

Alas. I have not a moment to mourn,

The monstrosities acrid fate has thrown.

For I have a land to rule,

And unwilling subjects to school.