The dew drenched bench,
The rusted bench,
The dirty path,
And the shattered pieces of
glass.
A cool breeze,
Sound of the waters hitting
the shore,
And that shabby little
whore.
Far across the street a
blinding light,
Beautiful white and very
bright,
Mistaken to be the moon,
Which has not yet rose in
the sky to its full height.
Few more steps closer,
Not a moon I find,
I found a street light,
Fog hid the lamppost behind.
Mom I was afraid,
Not of death,
But how would I make out,
In the cruel world's depth.
I was brought this far away
place,
When even the flying
butterflies often left me amazed,
I held Papa's finger tight,
He motivated me not to
fright.
I and Papa weren’t in the
same room,
All the daylong I spent with
a broom,
Every time I cleaned the
corridor floor,
An officer would spit across
the door,
And say in a harsh sarcastic
tone,
“Do it again fella!!”.
I thought it was some kind
of a game we were in,
Where the most obedient
wins,
Only later I realized,
I was a top with no spin.
Very less of Papa I see
now-a-days,
But I really miss how a lot
more,
Days were full of work,
And sleep was a hard luck!!
Many nights I spent crying,
Wondering what Papa was
doing,
After a very long time I got
a call to visit Papa’s cell,
It just resembled me the
feared hell.
Neither was he weak nor was
he ill,
Fellow prisoners said that
he was threatened to be killed,
I never even in my scariest
of the dreams I dreamt of it,
To be all by myself and
mourn for at my Papa’s feet,
He was murdered brutally,
I witnessed the cruelty at
its peak.
No one to care,
And nowhere to go,
Now that I decided to
escape,
A decade and a half of
careful planning,
For the right moment to
escape I was waiting,
Alas!! I am out now where I
dreamt of,
Unfortunately it’s not the
same as it dreamt of.
I go back in there I die,
And I walk forward too I
die,
But I will never back down,
I would gypsy from town to
town.
I will fly away to a place
really very far,
Where I would no more be a
PRISONER OF
THE WAR!!


true feelings..expressed well...nice work!
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