Four Seasons of Life

By Anandita Sharma

Four seasons are much like life, 
Where being a child is just like spring

Summers are for teenagers 
Autumn leaves gives a fall 
And winter covers us in a warm coat
And takes us to the final stage of our life, the end.
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A Victim of War

By Athira Warrier

While the sunrise paints an erratic blaze,
And the very winds cower away,
Scattered flowers bloom, a deep crimson,
The cries of war signal a new day.

Children awake to rattling guns,
They know not why they cry.
Bereaved of everything they may hold dear,
Abandoned, their lives gone awry.

Tell us, what is worth this carnage,
Tell us, what comes of this hate?
Explain, why we need to suffer,
Such a cruel twist of fate?

Chaos rears, a dragon in all fury,
As hollow eyes watch in despair.
There is no honor in this victory,
Where innocents have been slain, caught in war’s snare.

Tell us, where do you want us to hide?
Tell us, why do you torture us so?
Expound, on the need for such slaughter
Why do rivers of blood flow?

Day after day, the headlines do blare,
Our grief, etched in black and white.
As you mow down our people and seize our lands,
We are poor victims of your spite.

Tell us, is this what patriotism is?
Tell us, is violence the only way?
In what way are we different from you?
We are but pawns in this brutal game you play.