DEARTH OF LIVING
The earth weeps with weights of blood, spilled here and there,
Vandalising the tonnes of our belief in humanity.
Dreaded voices of strayed bullets and pepper spray,
Is what we nurture from the wounds derived from these numerous gunshots,
Unleashed by some fierce nozzles that pierce the soul's flesh of the living-dead as if the soil has changed its garment.
A massacre at the dead of the night,
With no strength left to fight,
The soul's happiness is now a dream,
Which forever, seem to be a milky moon,
what becomes of a bird
whose feathers are drenched with the turbulence of turmoil?
We are at the Achilles heel now,
where sumptuous deaths,
Wrangles with ageing souls,
and brut tongues whirr in agony,
Whereas sight becomes the language that kills the best and renowned,
who verifies suffers.
The dearth of morality,
strikes the death of peace,
To murder this dearth of living,
Morality needs to thrive with no dearth.
©Abdul Hadi Haleemah