by Muhammad Shanazar
I once in a dream flew into the world of future,
On the wings of fear, with the heart of agony,
And landed into a burnt zone,
Remotely resembled the world of man,
All wrapped in grimness of smoke.
I beheld men and women:
The remains of nations in rags,
All grubby with harrowed faces,
Impressionless eyes they had in the sockets.
They were at war against one another,
Not for high objectives nor to subjugate the Earth,
But for water, food and zones of fresh air.
They all carried the charred clubs,
Or the sable stones in their hands,
When they were at rest they shivered with cold,
Oh! Man mend the ways old.
Last updated June 22, 2011