On that dread day,
when innocent babes in arms
were torn screaming from the breasts of their mothers,
when the old and infirm were lined up
and had their spines snapped by high velocity bullets,
when the refugee camps ran red
with the slippery blood of voiceless victims,
when the sky itself wept and wailed,
on that dread day a nation bargained away
and lost its precious soul.
Peace and love died on that dread day.


©Rangzeb Hussain