My Desolated Land and I
Centuries are done!
But my land and I exist yet,
Under the visage of desolation,
Camouflaged by an arrogant power;
Bloody soldier, assassin, executioner
Amending, mastering it;
While I stay in abstract hatred,
Robbed off my cream of youth,
Whose blood has left no stain;
There, on the blood-saturated land,
And set up, halted in mockery,
I watch the mockery of time prevail;
While my clamors rise and die,
From waning throats void of charm;
Yet, claiming to breach the walls,
These labyrinthine walls rosy-red!
Painted by the blackened blood of innocence,
Leading a stair of my ancestral stair!
Persecuted by that savage beast,
Still, famished, void is their gut!
And to my rueful disaster,
I slumber!
Cushioned by my half-dead people
Walking in the procession of death;
Towards their safe haven.
But I exist yet,
Brooding upon my mute calamity;
That brings naught but humiliation,
Before my soul; Crestfallen;
Plagued every day and every night,
By dint of a dawdling tempest,
Lingering upon my lamely eye,
Lamenting upon my beleaguered land,
For my heaven has come to a stroke of doom!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
