Hungry shadows of birds skim
over golden dreams of dying grass
The trees have offered up their leaves
now they wait for the fires to cease.

Earth swelters in our battle fields
Rivers blush with the blood of dreams
Who are the ones who repainted the grass?
Wipe the crimson, can we just have the green?

©Reena Prasad
6th August 2012


3 thoughts on “War

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