Tale of a Hill

Peace is no more on the hill Forest Fire in innocent eyes I ask myself : who wiped out greenery ? The bountiful landscape devoid of luster. Red charcoal blazing on the red-carpet The tribe’s damsel hammers Her fate into sheets of sorrows. Tremors of fear trickles down her cheeks. Floats smell of gun powder Over the small hamlets of the hill. The sky above is within its limit. Serenity is no more, there….. Terrorism, a tiger in every tunnel Wagon loaded dreams of life Stops there to rest a while ! Shukrijani, the young vibrant tribe guy Refreshes his AK-47, Ridicules at old bow and arrows Mysterious mustache on his oval face. He Knows nothing of humanity He is trained to kill humans. The hill is no more a hill No more abode of peace ! Old mother of Shukrijani folding her shivering hands. Prays God: we want tranquility, We want peace ! Inertia of unknown identity plays hide and seek. The tribe’s damsel prays : O’ God of my fate, Transform me into mother Mary I want to give birth Another Jesus to bring Peace and harmony down to earth !