Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

 ? 𝞪/A


A crack. I look at the ground where my right foot, Just stepped on the skull of a child. A tear, why is that so, I wonder, my face black with soot, Vapor of pyres of cadavers behind me piled. The village I left in ruins, like those in paintings, Was my home, that I'll never transwalk. A dream? No… The bare reflection of my soul, pained By the atrocities committed in the name of national lore. A cry. I look behind me. There's this child, Sobbing constantly because his first witnessing war, Not the last, doom prevails, humanity have lied, And will lie, constantly. The kid will end up behind bars. The bars of life, which constrains us all. Remember the time, when water was accessible, Food in plenty, joy and love also, till the fall That never ended, the sunfall that made life impossible.