The charred bones of the houses
Stand against a crimson sky
Stand on their last legs
Waiting to fall to dust
Anytime, with dead souls inside
Some will survive, they reckon
Some will be under the ground
Why hide there
In the lap of death
They have to stay there
Embracing the misery of their existence
For they are condemned
To a life of death
The guns, the shells, the bombs
The only music they hear
Like a nightmare, in the fangs of sleep.
Nosheen Irfan © 2016
All Rights Reserved
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