There’s a drought of hope,
And only sufferings bloom ,
With the blood of the innocents,
In the middle of the war!
A soldier lifts his bruised head,
From the rubble of his land,
Which was once a paradise,
Now a barren land of chaos.
His dreams soaked in tears,
His sufferings healed with smoke,
He limps for his motherland,
He lives and fight for his motherland.
Where is his heaven?
Maybe, deep inside his soul
Reside the love of his people,
Though his body walk on embers,
But his soul Is already in paradise!
©2022 Piyush Singh