The War Song- A Poetic Version

By: Sahil Sharifdin Bhat

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Don’t leave the basement, my little son.

It is not the time to play and run.

Most of your friends are already dead

With bullets , hunger , terror and dread .

Your mom a refugee and dad in battle

Fighting for his freedom ,land and cattle .

Your sisters missing, your  grandpa  lost—

Lying perhaps dead  somewhere in frost .

Come to your grandma , go not outside .

They are blinded by power,  rage and pride .

They have guns ,  tanks , planes and drones .

Our men fight with prayers and stones .

They hate our faith , colour  and language.

They bomb every city , town and village .

They assault girls and humiliate the old .

They kill the young and steal our gold .

They control the media of every nation

With threats  , bribery and donation .

Thieves, rapists , hypocrites and killers

But they name themselves peacemakers .

They do not fear any deity or God

And rule the world with an iron rod .

They are hunters and we are prey .

We have been made for their play .

Listen to me , O my little grandson ,

Else they will kill you for their fun .