Su Ben Poet Free verse

The Battlefield With No Face, No Beginning, No End

when scorpions crawling on the boiling sands 
dance the dance of death with tail culled up 
the gaudy toadstools grow in the dark and dampest spot
in the wasteland, and as day progresses the never-ending 
merciless killing under the very same scorching sun that hangs high above 
the wasteland drags on and on in the urban, areas where people carry out 
the activities of daily routine to sustain ordinary lives.
 
on the street and alley the children’s corpses 
though laying here and there
no one knows how to stop the deafening roar 
that comes from the blasting bombs and the report of the guns 
that take more innocent lives away from loved ones which do not allow 
even a moment to the bereaved one to mourn with own accord, and when 
the tears of a woman in black burqa slaps forehead and bangs her breast with palms and cries, her maternal affection benumbed and become stone as her tears coagulate and harden.

a small rough and simple wooden coffin goes 
carried by the stern looking bearded men followed by not requiem 
but the shout of the angry crowd brandishing empty fists that won’t do 
anything in air the agony of the incompetent father who incapable of 
keeping his dearest daughter’s life 
nor able to provide a decent funeral and burial services 
for the child’s last journey overlays the new-soil-covered little grave
as many layers of sigh after sighs. 

when the tanks and armored vehicles sweep through the street
where many, many of those horrible stories rolling and flying 
all over like autumn leaves, the soldiers with dust covered 
combat boots dash into the street with unceasing gun shots 
that hit the shadows because it moves, only because it breathes, 
and therefore must be slaughtered. the fireballs hotter than boiling 
sun shoot in the air with loud report on the other side of the street.
 
and between those ear-piercing roars 
another angry wave marches on the street
carrying a small coffin, and in this chaos
eventide with no tomorrow dyes the corner of sky 
above the faceless battlefield with the red of blood.

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