The nights used to come with buckets of buds
And at dawn they all bloom into dreams
Now twilight brings for us only sounds
And in the morning they turn into
News of deaths from gun shots
To be precise
It is half a century and a decade ago
I have had my last laugh
Or have had a song from my heart
As I have been seeing the devils' duel
Over a tiny piece of land.
Neither I take a bath under the sun
Nor I see my face nor do I see the moon
In protest against the ugliness of human souls
Since the time I have seen
To shed human blood
For a few barrels of greed
Over a drop of little gain.
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