The Whispering North
The wind blows from north still whispers,
While the soft voices mourned, fade and disperse.
Corpses unburied, immerse in unknown oceans,
Curse upon thousands of Gods and hundreds of nations
Dead, wounded, scattered limbs and tents burning
Remained on that massacred village
Amidst Dreadful screamings, Waves of killing and raping
Stormed, and bandits start to pillage.
The formless shadows of Children, women and Elders
With bleeding wounds and worn old decaying tatters
Lie begirt with despair, barbwires and murders
No Miracle nor blessed, surviving from the barrages
Their Flesh and blood are still suck by the savages
The supremacist totem on female corpses
Decorates the ceremonial nights of demoniac soldiers.
And the Adrenalin overflows with heroic sperms,
While a sinister smoke ascending over dark Canopies.
But, the wind blows from north still whispers.
Ajith C. Herath
200909
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