In the vast dome of silence,
Crackling of autumn leaves,
Suddenly began with
Obtrusive sounds.
Behind the dance bushes,
There was mere clamor
Of barking,
Howling,
Wailing,
Wandering dogs.
Hums of bees and beetles.
Flagrant there were,
Of creeping
Crawling insects.

Hustling,
Gushing,
Murky clouds.
Gusty winds,
Starching shadows of
Vanishing burnt trees.
Gruesome,
Arid woodland and
Dried macabre meadows,
Rotten groves, and
Condemned deadly bodies.
Some of them growling,
With the taste of half death.

Yet proud of their torn,
Shabby uniforms,
With glittering meddles,
Dusty fading worthless badges.

Their shredded,
Dismantling,
Flags,
With lasting graceful colors,
Affirmative.
But confused,
Their determination,
To succeed one day.

But the main banner was
Still high,
In the gloomy red sky.
That had shun vividly,
With remnant,
Dimming rays
And burning reddish,
Glaring,
Setting sun.
Like tinted lips
Of an old,
Feeble woman.

Defeated,
Young,
Homeless soldiers.
Then suddenly laughed.
Hardly concealing,
Their embarrassment,
Of defeated war.
In their strident voice,
They started to sing,
Their song of glory.
With repeating sound of,
Undamaged drums,
Fiddles and pipes.

Joyous they became,
With their amorous,
Returning hike.
They sang of triumph and glory.
Mere victory.

Their voice exploded.
Discharged,
Crashing with falling,
Demolishing,
Walls of a
House of worship.

Drumming,
Thrumming,
Clattering,
Chattering,
Whistling they passed.
But the great walls
Of House of God,
High but breathless,
Hushed by the
Silence.
Towering, tall,
Stood in victory for all.

Copyright, November 19,1983.
By Ashraf Gohar Goreja