The Shadows of Rancour

The Shadows of Rancour.

We live in the ‘modern times’ where the bedrock of humankind is buttressed by the dicey imagination and trust in future . We surmise our progress and happiness to be the legacy of our belief in this imagination.

To determine the characteristics of a modern society , is to peer into the unreliable patterns of a  kaleidoscope where the only persistent characteristic is the incessant change , building the foundation of an eternal war .The ignorance of the obliterate realities and firm belief in these sketchy imaginations become the ruination of humanity , finally leaving death as the only escape from this modern society .

Sometimes we might wonder our brain to be the most unfathomable of natural machinery which is always buzzing , complaining , rising , falling and then suddenly craving for more . But what is this passion for ? What do we want to become ? The supreme creators ? Or some dissatisfied gods and superhumans ? What is the escape from such a pursuit ? Love ? War? Religion ? Money ? Death ? Or just one more pursuit of those pointless ephemeral feelings? What is it ?

Drawing your attention on one, out of the myriads of pursuits of human ignorance, here is a poem on war .

The Shadows of Rancour.


War is but a haunting dream.

Seeking power we dive in it,

But are awaken of tyranny.

When time silences its uproar,

The change is but , a trivial one

A subtle content , than desire for more.

Winners toast to their victory land,.

While sleep is solace to others.

But dawn it is , with desires again at hand.

Marching robots with metal jutted khaki,

Mantling their humanness,

With beige painted cordial emotions,

Carrying the memory of their love,

And fear of ruination.

A bacchanal it was with beige , metal theme

With gun shots for music , 

with quivering bodies for dancing beings , with blood for wine , and

fluttering organs for flickering gleam.

It was for a piece of barren land . It was

for the nations greedy soul . It was

to lose our countrymen . 

For the shadows of rancour.

The wheels were turned in the soldiers life.

Who panting with an open wound,

glanced at comrades sooty ring,

And then his blood spattered shoe,

Whirling in the evening wind.

He crawled in dust with ghastly pain,

Hovering organs on trees were seen,

The face of death unveiled to him,  

anomalies of life unforeseen.

Words came out with lettered singularity,

Shivering at the sight of panting bodies,

The comrades ghosts haunting his sight,

While the rest was spent in re learning life .

Also read: It Will Only Be for Love(Poem of a Pandemic)

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