Yesk Nair
Poetry
A Song to the Futile

Storms through the chinks of chaos
Put out the lights of possibilities
They called it as war of necessities
They made these barren lands fertile
With the blood and dreams of the “futile”
This garden is, but sepulchres of unknown
The chariots of age will carry their souls
To the lands which they never know
Here, years back I will pray for you my bosoms!
To devour the elixir they forbidden
Even in stupor’s last layer not try to remember
The memories of your bitter past
Stay there till the last tree breath last
Be there till the last hill, river lasts
In a bliss of truth and beauty
Apart from war and booty
Keep your warriors on your brow
Like Ulysses they may come
With seeds of mayhem to sow
Teach them the gist of love and beauty
Send them back to their own homeland
Let them craft histories new
Sans war, crime and atrocities anew

Yesk Nair
Pity of war and the pity war distilled
Hi Jacintha
it is all depends upon the theme. it is nothing excpet " the pity of war & the pity war distilled". The most worthless thing in this world is the poor human beings. Let me call them the futile. Even democracy certain extents means " the rich being the richer and the poor being the poorer" Thanks for your comments.

jacintha morris

hey yesk isnt it a hard nut, will all be able to crack the shell to taste the kernel