I lay my sword down to pick up a pen,
To tell a tale solely about pain.
A war that changed the warrior within me,
It gave birth to a man with empathy within me.
Compelled to kill the stranger who was my enemy,
Slowly killed the monster fighting within me.
Only the dead bodies i see through my eyes,
My husband is a warrior says the widow as she cries.
A pregnant woman with an unborn child,
Lost her husband killed in the wild.
The girls were raped and the children were killed
The atrocities gave me grief and guilt
We won the war but lost the pride
I go past the dead on the horse i ride
I draw my sword for the one last time
To mark the black date of war crime
I weep for the ones i lost in the battle
The dreams of the dead makes me rattle
As I lay my sword down to pick up a pen,
To tell a tale of nothing but pain.
“ना दुख है मुझे तेरे जाने का,
ना थी कभी खुशी तेरे आने की ।
कुछ पल क्या बिताएं तेरी गोद में,
पूरा शहर हमें चरित्रहीन समझने लगा।”
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