Each day a new gash on our wounds
Open-mouthed they gaze at the bloodied screen
Every wound a mark of withering unity
Every crimson symbolizing dreams being shattered
A hand flies down from there, a leg from somewhere
Is it raining death over the land that preaches peace?
With no one to turn to and nothing fair
Noble souls turning to ashes is the fees
Of riots that cause mayhem and despair
Presenting charred memories which seem never to disappear.
Long lost faith in the system, the governance
Adding to the woes and the superficial religious trance.
Under the shadow of the chains of separation
Young flowers charred beyond recognition.
To the almighty I pray, who are you exactly-
Allah, Vishnu, Jesus or Guru Nanak?
Aren’t they all your different names?
Those having power they classify your names to kill
Your own children- prey of your own different identities!