The fresh smells of ripe pineapples
planted by the pathway to the stream
rejuvenate my nose with juicy flavors
and the greenish smells of fallen avocadoes
Make my lips feel
the buttery taste.

The sight of our once wilted flowers
_blooming, gladdens my ill-heart
and my people's distant chanting
drives me back in time
to when the mild and meek shivered
in dying cold in an atmosphere
impregnated by gunpowder.

I sit with the kids
to tell them the story of,
how they were brutally assaulted
by vicious soul reapers
and night time knights.

When they woke up
to the cries of their pinpricks,
mourning the death of their fathers
whose souls fled before the cock crowed
accompanied by cachophony
of killing machines
as their offspring's dreams got enslaved
in a trance swooping
them to become a tramp.

How they were curbed in cubbyholes
like rats awaiting Mr Grim reaper's visitation
how the hectic street swayed to a sanctuary,
no mongers
and how they lost their dignity
to the dogs,vultures and owls
_feasting on their beloved ones.

How silence ruled with gripping fears
in our hearts before we gained back our voice
to sing
in coherence to the wave
of the waving bloodstained flag

_to sing the SONG OF PEACE.