POW

I lay there.

The smell of gunpowder made my eyes water.

Oil slicks coated my very existence.

All I could hear were gunshots.

The air was thick with dust and pollutants.

If I could cry, I would.

All that I called my home is now being brought to the ground.

If I could stand, I would.

Soldiers ran around me; they ran over me.

My beautiful blonde hair has now become rough and dry.

Angelic curls buried under small piles of sand.

I could hear the sobs of little children, the cries of their mothers.

Structures of Man vanish all of a sudden.

I look up at the skies and wonder.

When will the rains wash this away?

Can they?

I want to be washed away too.

Washed away and thrown into a dark godown.

Any place is better than this.

Here, Hades just lurks for his fill of souls.

My pretty pink frock has on it black spots.

Soot, darker than black, weighs my lashes to shame

I would close my eyes if I could.

But now all I can do is lie on my ragged back.

To think of the little girls I played for hours with

And hope that in another birth I shall not be

A Poupée Of War

 

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