The Lost

Among these piles of trash and prejudice,
We sit down to fire up the cold breeze.
The sun didn't show up for days and all,
To our faces that are pale and surreal.

The smell of oil and the stink of dead,
Filled in the streets I see till the end.
Children roam bare and cry with hunger,
Their mothers turned numb and deaf forever.

In the dark, our gardens sprout and breed,
The illness of science and hybrid.
And the books we read speak of nothing,
The school is now, but just another building.

Big brothers live here and there,
I bow my head low to earth and smear,
Up above, the flags wave to those distant winds,
I don't remember, to say, who are our leaders.

I cry ,in these rooms of rich heritage,
To those men who reason our prestige,
Where is the dream we all of us had?
To hunt down the animal that made us mad?

-Aroon Che