With tears, painting a miserable masterpiece
Do you care to look at this horror from your ivory palace?
With bruises and cuts adorning their bare skins
Do you care to listen to the screams at solemn midnight?
When laughter disappears with no door to knock on and search for it
Do you care to ask where children go after tragedy befalls those roses?
No, we don’t! The callous world keeps going about its business.
No, I mean I, who has become an ugly sore on a disfigured body,
like a vicious monster ready to devour its prey,
It doesn’t bother us when innocence is forcefully smothered.
The clock never rests, yet everything stays the same.
Do we care about what this bloody transaction claims?
They create stories; we die believing in those.
They mould new truth, we get blinded by lies,
They worship their profit; we ignore our conscience.
Their goals are clear as day, yet our humanity never recognises,
dead asleep on the comfy bed of lies our minds have long rotten.
So, tell me, what do you see when the day comes to an end?
Well, what I see is haunting—a beautiful life cut short.
I see merry children running on my bloody canvas in a wasteland of unfulfilled dreams.
By: Aadila Irshad
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