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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464390" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Am A Bride-groom Of War Procession (A War Poem)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Youth <br>Is the natural right<br>Of my innocent children.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">War<br>Claims a part of my age; <br>My back is destined not to become a bow, <br>Death has built a nest in my chest; <br>And dread<br>Travels though my bones, <br>These my young and warm hands, <br>Which had been kissed more than often, <br>By my beloved women <br>Now are marked by death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wish that before my death, <br>I could take my aged mother in my lap; <br>Ah! No one is there to shed tears <br>On the death of Happiness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am a Bride-groom of war procession, <br>Radiation will apply Surma to my eyes, <br>At the very moment, <br>Life on my cheeks will die down, <br>My shoes will sleep in mud prostrate, <br>And the rags of my shirt, <br>Will cover nudity of any half-burnt tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar) </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Surma: A black stone ground into powder which is applied to blacken the eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Muhammad+Shanazar">Muhammad Shanazar</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464390" data-title="I Am A Bride-groom Of War Procession (A War Poem) de Muhammad Shanazar" data-description="Youth Is the natural right Of my innocent children. War Claims a part of my age; My back is destined not to become a bow, Death has built a nest in my chest; And dread Travels though my bones, These my young and warm hands, Which had been k..."></div> </div> </div>
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