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Soldiers Of The Kargil War

You trek through the snow-clad vales with guns,
knowing well you march ahead into traps of death,
forgetting yourselves, your kith and kin,
to face the fierce foes religion-eaten
and kill them and be killed or lynched.
You bury the corpse of those fanatics
doing the rites their parents need to do,
as you are from a humane race.
But when we receive your flag-draped coffins,
seeing your mangled bodies
we vent our spleen in flowing tears.

The Tololing peak and the Tiger Hill
speak volumes of your valiant deeds.
But not even a bit of land we have
will ope its lips of our cowardly life.
The wealth we heaped and the life we reaped
will go to waste as the wheel turns..
Our morbid blood is not fit to spill
even on the dells around our hamlets.
The blood you shed on harsh terrains
flows through the land of Maha Rana
and the marvellous warrior Shivaji
and give harvests of sacrificial grains
and make our children fell and brave.

Let the books of History be filled
with the thrills of your facing bullets.
We’re fed up with the tales of cruel looters.
The future rulers of our land are your kids.
Those hurt in wars will sit in offices,
and those unhurt will man the police stations
and in schools you will inspire the young
to roam around the hills where our soldiers fell.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Tears Of Blood

On every battlefield,
the ground is stained with tears of blood.
The cruelty of war holds no bounds.
Men and boys fight together
and against each other.
Theirs deaths are just numbers
on someone’s statistics chart.
Their names are quickly forgotten
except by their loved ones.
Their bodies rot where they fell
in the no man’s land on a battlefield.
No one can make sense of the useless slaughter
by a faceless enemy across the invisible lines.
Lines drawn in the lunacy of a moment
for which hundreds will die for.
The tears of blood will fall like raindrops
from machinegun fire,
and so the crazy war goes on.
Each side losing brave men
to save some politicians face.
There is no glory in death
and wasting tears of blood on some foreign land,
just a waste of good lives.
When will it ever end?

22-23 May 2009

poem by David Harris
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Moses The Prophet

Moses
The Prophet
Of Jews
And mine
As well
See
What is going on
In the Holy land
People are fighting
Blood of Man
Is shed
Here and there
Children
Birds
& trees
Are killed

Are killed
And every blood
Is shed
Is shed

Please
Speak to them
This is your land as well
Speak to them
All of them
To stop
Blood shed

To stop
killing children
Say sorry to God
& live in peace

Live In Peace.

poem by Eman Elbadawi
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A War Raging On

There's a war raging on
Though I know not where
There are people fighting
Though they do not care
Soldiers are fighting
Mothers are crying
Fathers are preaching
For their sons are dying,
For their is a war killing
And no one really cares.

There's bullets shooting
As I see the guns loading
And there's planes flying
For I feel the bombs exploding,
I see war and I see blood
And death upon the sand
There's hunger and death
I still see in His hand,
For there's people killing
As I see the blood flowing.

There's soldiers marching
For I hear them coming
The killing is flowing
For I see the children running,
There are people being shot
Poets getting caught
Murderers being sought
Lessons again being taught,
For there is a war raging
As the soldiers are hunting.

There is a war coming
For I hear the horns blowing
There is more killing coming
For I see the hate growing,
Children are getting killed
Burying bombs in the fields
Land is being destroyed
Mountains are becoming hills,
For there is a war coming
For I see the hate showing.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Land of snow

I dreamt of a land, a land so high,
A land of snow which touches the sky,
Where the rivers are born, and torn apart
To wash the sins of many eyes.

On the snowy hill, where the waters chilled,
Would touch my lips, have my thirst killed,
I sit and bite on the blowing wind
And have in me some snow filled.

The dream broke with a sudden blow,
Oh! An upheavel on the top floor,
I get off my bed and wet my face,
And walk on my land of no snow.

poem by Shouvik Roy
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Children Of The Land

Written by james young
Lead vocals by james young
Children of the land
Dont wear a frown upon your face
Come on and join your hands
Were all a part of the human race
The music is here
To let you leave your fears behind
Come on along dont do me wrong
Lets see what you might find
Children of the land
Children of the land
Dont misunderstand
Were all children of the land
Dont trust anyone else
To run your life and set your goals
Youve gotta be able to live with yourself
When you are getting old
Others are getting blamed
For messing your life around
Its your own fault if you complain
For letting it get you down
Children of the land
Children of the land
Dont misunderstand
Were all children of the land
Children - come on children now
Children - yeah
Children - I said children yeah
Children - come on children now
Children - of the land
Children - of the land
Children - I said of the land

song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Flag Over Stanley

From the safety of our homes,
we watch with baited breath,
the TV reports nightly,
as the task force moved away.
Brave men,
some whom would never come back again,
lined the decks.
Through a cruel sea,
to a crueller climate,
the ships of the Royal Navy sped.
Valiant were their objectives.
Peace bringing to a troubled land.
But, peace through blood shed.

The night was cold;
a snow fell on the ground.
Through the wilderness,
of flares and gunfire,
three groups move forward,
to set an invader running
and a white flag to wave in the air.
A flag to symbolise defeat.
A cheer from the victors,
shrugged shoulders from the vanquished.
There is no glory,
with the wasting of young lives,
no matter what the side.

14 June 1982

poem by David Harris
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The Valiant Maharana Pratap Singh (Rajasthan)

Never he was a vassal to the Moghul,
Who led a Turkish mob to plunder
And annexe the Princely States of Bharat.
'God alone is my suzerain and not a Turk',
He thundered and kept his word till his end.
His gallant steed Chetak matched his prowess
And vied for glory with his master Rana.
When the subdued kings lost their queens
or wedded to the Sultan their daughters,
Rana Pratap, Mewar's Rajput Chief
Proved a lion to show the pride of his race,
By bowing not his head to Delhi.
Those who bent their knees at the Court of Moghuls
Couldn't sit, chat and dine with him.
This insult rankled in the mind of Man Singh
Who led the army of Akbar, The Great,
And he hinted for a war with Delhi.
Missions sent to bend Rana's heart
Failed to make any dent, and crumbled.

Hakim Khan Sur, though a Pathan
Fought at front for Rana's army.
He had no myopic spell of religion.
He liked Rana, who treated the women
of the vanquished foe with reverence
And stood high in morals among the kings.
The randy Turks never learnt the laws of war.
They were nefarious and lawless mobs from afar.
Sur laid his life for the sake of Rana
On the first day of war at Haldighati.
The brave Bhils stood by the marvellous Rana
And Haldighati amidst Auroville hills
Turned to red with blood and saffron-turbaned heads.
Guerrilla warfare, so Rana chose
To save his men with swords and bows from guns.
Akbar's forces couldn't single out Pratap
To capture him alive or dead.
Breaking all the cordons, Pratap advanced
To strike at Man Singh seated on his elephant.
Chetak hopped aloft and Pratap hurled his spear
At the shameless lieutenant of Delhi.
But Man Singh escaped while his mahout fell dead.
And in the fiery fight, Pratap got trapped.
Man Singh's faeryderm swung a sword from it's trunk
And Chetak got a lethal cut at it's leg.
A deadly blow also fell on Rana.
Jhala Man, the wondrous Chief of Rana
Snatched the royal emblem from Rana's head
And bore the brunt of attack on his King.
His Chieftains tried hard to whisk Rana off
And he sallied out with his injured horse.
Jhala Man was mistaken for Rana,
And the hostile men surrounded him and killed.
Rana beat a retreat into the hills,
But two Moghuls pursued him for his head
For them to be awarded with royal gifts.

Crossing a rivulet Chetak neighed and fell,
The first time in his life to feel remorse
And breathed his last on Rana's lap.
Rana took the saddle off his Chetak
And shed a Master's tears on his closing eyes.
An estranged brother of Rana Pratap,
Serving under the imperial Akbar,
Chased the blood thirsty Mughuls,
severed their heads and saved his brother,
Whom the people adored as the hero.
He pleaded with Rana to mount on his horse
And hurry into the Ghatti hills deep and dense,
Where the Mughuls dared not to enter,
As the Bhills under Panja would spray stones
From the hide-outs, Nature shaped in those hills.

The loss of all his ferocious fighters
In sanguinary battles fought often,
Made Rana grievous, and he exiled himself
Into the desert, with remaining men.
He had a wise Minister to salvage
And urge him again to wield the sword
Against Delhi dreaming to swallow Bharat.
Bhama Shah, his boundless wealth to Rana gave
And the lion of Mewar defied again
And rallied his men to regain his fort.

Akbar ceased from futile wars with Rana
And turned his ire to the West of North.
Rana ruled in peace to the ease of all.
A cut on his leg put Rana on his bed.
In his nebulous vision, he saw his horse
And his soul bade bye on being pledged
That his Mewar would not bow to Delhi
And flew up mounting on his Chetak.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Killing Fountains

I see rockets in the desert sky
I see flesh and blood and I dont know why
Ive seen fathers and Ive seen them die
Ive seen mothers and their daughters cry
Surprised soldiers with holes in their heads
Smiling presidents sweating in their beds
Dreaming of the land where the black gold flows
Where the sun always shines
And the desert wind blows
Its always one step forward and two steps back
They stumble and fall and break their necks
In the land of the killing fountains
Once it was gods land in the middle-ages
Now blue helmets try to stop the rage
While rocket launchers burn the sand
Thats what you call the promised land
Its always one step forward and two steps back
They stumble and fall and break their necks
In the land of the killing fountains
You can kill bodies but you cant kill religion
This is the truth and peace is the fiction
In the land of the killing fountains
And millions die with a silent smile
Seven days a week and the years pass by
In the land of the killing fountains
Where the black gold flows
Where the desert wind blows

song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warriors Of Ice

Learning the rules of the
Games with atrocity
Living in a prehistoric
Weather with intencity
Armed...Cold weapons in hand
Charged...Mangled corps on the land
The bestials contortions on the pray
Makes me lust to kill'em all every day
Curdled by frost
Too young to rust
Fight...Be wild
Warriors of ice
The hell fighters
Warriors of ice...
Mid way through life, mid way to death
The nomads soldiers fight for the best
Armed...Cold weapons in hand
Charged...Mangled corps on the land
Feel the chill by the polar race
Make the world a disaffected place
Live to die, eye to eye
Raise the chase, face to face
The dirty desperado goes black
At freezing point
Hail stones fall and fall again
Armed...Cold weapons in hand
Charged...Mangled corps on the land
Prisoners of ice wheeze in a sultry weather
This is the fate of the frozen agessors...
Advance thermal killers
They're the barbaric butchers
Unscrupulous
Here they are to abuse
Spitting the barren land
Crushing all til nothing stands
Ready for attack
They gonna shoot you in the back

song performed by by Voivod
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Remorse

No mercy for what we are doing
No thought to even what we have done
We don't need to feel the sorrow
No remorse for the helpless one

War without end
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath

Blood feeds the war machine
as it eats its way across the land
We don't need the feel the sorrow
No remorse is the one command

War without end
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath

Only the strong survive
No one to save the weaker race
We are ready to kill all comers
Like a loaded gun right at your face

War without end
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath

Attack
Bullets are flying
People are dying
with madness surrounding all hell's breaking loose
Soldiers are hounding
Bodies are mounting
cannons are shouting to take their abuse
With war machines going
Blood starts to flowing
No mercy given to anyone hear
The furious fighting
Swords are like lighting
It all becomes frightening to you
Know death is near
No remorse

song performed by by Metallica from Kill 'Em All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red With Native Blood

Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
We have soiled it so, with our hands,
red with native blood.
The earth was stained, when we first came,
red with native blood.
We stole their domain, with a barbaric claim:
that we were civilised and they were not,
that they were the savages and we were not,
when we ravaged the land that began to clot,
red with native blood.

Not content with genocide
we interned them in reserves.
To break their culture
and tribal ways;
in stealing children
the state was brave,
to turn their women
into household slaves,
and hope their men would die,
unmourned, in lonely graves;
a problem to us no more.

Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
Acknowledge their just demands,
wash the stains from our hands,
give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.

poem by David SmithWhite
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Written In Red!

Pages of history of man kind
Are written red,

Those who thought their blood,
As blue as sky or as blue as deep ocean,
Wrote the pages in Red and every page is full of bloodshed!

Hungry people weep for even glass of water,
And even for that they had blood to shed,

Innocent plants or innocent grass die,
When two elephants fight for supremacy!
They never care how many innocent may die!

Great heroes are made on the number of men they despatch to hell,
Saying patriots have heaven in their fight!

They are heroes like matadors at the cost of blood of an innocent bull!
Otherwise they are as you and me except that cruelty,

Men the made several men to shed blood, in the name of woman,
May it be sita, may it be Padmini
Or may be Helen of Troy,

All men were treated like toys
By a that a few mad boys,
To have their woman back,
Or defend their action,

All religions have their history written in red,
May it be books that are from God,
Stained with red, God signed it with blood,
Put the rubber stamp of quality with bone and flesh,

Every nation is having its own fountain of blood shed!
power hungry need only to shed crocodile tears,

Or just present awards and reward,
Those who safeguard
and died to save them!

May it be Ashoka, may it be Idi Ameen
or may be Churchil, or may be Gandhi,
Or may Lincoln or Changez Khan
Only they were famous due blood shed!

May it be history of continent or that sub continent
Only a story written in blood, On human skin and with bones as pens!
May it be any ' -ism ' or may
Politics in spain or Britain,

Equally dangerous are these..
Power or woman,
Ambition or nation,
Whether terrorist or counter terrorist venture

Police or politician,
Every history of massive wealth,
Or a piece of land
Religion or culture, blood is That red ink with pages of history is written only in red!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Paschandale

(SmithHarris)
In a foreign field he lay
Lonely soldier, unknown grave
On his dying words he prays
Tell the world of Paschendale
Relive all that he's been through
Last communion of his soul
Rust your bullets with his tears
Let me tell you 'bout his years
Laying low in a blood filled trench
Kill tim 'til my very own death
On my face I can feel the falling rain
Never see my friends again
In the smoke, in the mud and lead
Smell the fear and the feeling of dread
Soon be time to go over the wall
Rapid fire and the end of us all
Whistles, shouts and more gun fire
Lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire
Battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb
Be reunited with my dead friends soon
Many soldiers eighteen years
Drown in mud, no more tears
Surely a war no-one can win
Killing time about to begin
Home, far away
From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away
But the war, no chance to live again
The bodies of ours and our foes
The sea of death it overflows
In no man's land, God only knows
Into jaws of death we go
Crucified as if on a cross
Allied troops they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
Such before has never been seen
Swear I heard the angels cry
Pray to god no more may die
So that people know the truth
Tell the tale of Paschendale
Cruelty has a human heart
Every man does play his part
Terror of the men we kill
The human heart is hungry still
I stand my ground for the very last time
Gun is ready as I stand in line
Nervous wait for the whistle to blow
Rush of blood and over we go
Blood is falling like the rain
Its crimso

song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Remains to Lose for Freedom

Half of the Tamils of Eelam in Srilanka
had fled and migrated to countries
where the people humane and rulers divine live.
The poor, old and the disabled totter there
to receive the cudgels and bullets from the Sinhalese.

The tigers who fought for freedom are no more.
The parents of the tigers got their limbs broken
or shot in day light before the scared and starved.
The womenfolk lost their virtue and killed themselves.
The young boys and girls are ostracized and disabled.
The lands of the Tamils are colonised with gangs of goons.
The Tamils have linguistic, racial and religious differences
from the Sinhalese who grabbed the reins from the British.
The idols of their deities demolished in desecrated temples.
The honour of the Tamils was annihilated
before the very eyes of the UNO which holds now polls
to decide their fate and change the blood-stained soil
where the soldiers raped the corpses of the women-tigers.
They have lost their land, men, wealth and honour.
What is there to lose more for getting freedom?

The members of the UNO are religious bigots except a few.
Will they vote in favour of the beleaguered Tamils in fences?
May the Lord open their minds to see the plight of the Tamils.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Kill The Evil

It’s a beautiful land
It’s a home for many
Many lived with peace
Lived with unity and love
With smiles on each face

Children play with its mud
Farms dance with its soil
Rivers flow on its bed
Flowers glow all around
Nature loves that land

Life is very simple there
Children go to school
Men and Women work
Old ones enjoy life
People lived happily

People pray in church
People pray in mosque
People pray as they wish
It has different beliefs
But all are united

Its unity is questioned
Questioned by an evil
Its name is ‘WAR’
It bombed that land
And killed everything

Destroyed homes of many
Many lived in fear
Many cried in pain
In pain of lost ones
Taken away by evil

Some can’t kick football
Some can’t write proper
Some tears can’t run down
Many got wounded
Wounded by the evil

Schools got bombed
Books got burned
Playground in silent
Kids didn’t grow up
Evil axed even tulips

Farms caught fire
Fruits weren’t picked
Rivers flowed red
Water wasn’t tasted
Evil ruined the nature

Church bells stopped ringing
Mosque no longer stands
Culture no longer rejoiced
Beautiful land is ragged
In the hands of evil

Evil, who’s name is WAR
Its only aim is blood
Blood of many innocent lives
Life is the gift of god
God’s message is peace and love

So let’s spread his message
And kill this evil forever
And free this world forever
Forever from its bloody hands
Into the hands of peace forever

poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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Fighting for survival

Pakistan is not fighting for survival
For years it had waited for their arrival
They were give free use of land for subversion
Now it is too late to have any point of discussion

A holy land”Pakistan” as we all know
Had horrible years to witness and go
Lots of blood shed and deep bitterness
No where to show the brave front or kind face

Of late something unusual has taken place
There is cry over terrorist’s death and still more race
What will be fate of innocent people living around?
Their bodies remain unclaimed and sometimes not found

Pakistan must find its own holy war
The holocaust and bad consequences are not very far
No person may be allowed to move freely
In our own land we may be prisoners truly

When whole world is with you
Rise to the occasion and prove true
Allah may bless for any of the reasons
How can distinguish between good and bad persons?

No where it is seen that person is murdered while praying
The whole body is pierced though with pumping of bullets or spraying
Let people rise in arms and declared *“Jihad” for upholding religion
How can one Good *Musalmann be mere spectator in such region?

Terrorism can not be over in one day
Yet there is fine solution on the way
Find common strategy and offer resistance
They will be on run if united at once

No country can tolerate such nuisance
The defenders of the countries are aware of their presence
No religion can preach violence, hatred and seek blood
In such utter condition where people are dying for the want of food

* Musalmann.. pure…….*Jihad…Holy struggle

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Colored Soldiers

IF the muse were mine to tempt it
And my feeble voice were strong,
If my tongue were trained to measures,
I would sing a stirring song.
I would sing a song heroic
Of those noble sons of Ham,
Of the gallant colored soldiers
Who fought for Uncle Sam!
In the early days you scorned them,
And with many a flip and flout
Said 'These battles are the white man's,
And the whites will fight them out.'
Up the hills you fought and faltered,
In the vales you strove and bled,
While your ears still heard the thunder
Of the foes' advancing tread.
Then distress fell on the nation,
And the flag was drooping low;
Should the dust pollute your banner?
No! the nation shouted, No!
So when War, in savage triumph,
Spread abroad his funeral pall —
Then you called the colored soldiers,
And they answered to your call.
And like hounds unleashed and eager
For the life blood of the prey,
Spring they forth and bore them bravely
In the thickest of the fray.
And where'er the fight was hottest,
Where the bullets fastest fell,
There they pressed unblanched and fearless
At the very mouth of hell.
Ah, they rallied to the standard
To uphold it by their might;
None were stronger in the labors,
None were braver in the fight.
From the blazing breach of Wagner
To the plains of Olustee,
They were foremost in the fight
Of the battles of the free.
And at Pillow! God have mercy
On the deeds committed there,
And the souls of those poor victims
Sent to Thee without a prayer.
Let the fulness of Thy pity
O'er the hot wrought spirits sway
Of the gallant colored soldiers
Who fell fighting on that day!
Yes, the Blacks enjoy their freedom,
And they won it dearly, too;
For the life blood of their thousands
Did the southern fields bedew.
In the darkness of their bondage,
In the depths of slavery's night,
Their muskets flashed the dawning,
And they fought their way to light.
They were comrades then and brothers.
Are they more or less to-day?
They were good to stop a bullet
And to front the fearful fray.
They were citizens and soldiers,
When rebellion raised its head;
And the traits that made them worthy,—
Ah! those virtues are not dead.
They have shared your nightly vigils,
They have shared your daily toil;
And their blood with yours commingling
Has enriched the Southern soil.
They have slept and marched and suffered
'Neath the same dark skies as you,
They have met as fierce a foeman,
And have been as brave and true.
And their deeds shall find a record
In the registry of Fame;
For their blood has cleansed completely
Every blot of Slavery's shame.
So all honor and all glory
To those noble sons of Ham —
The gallant colored soldiers
Who fought for Uncle Sam!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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America Post 911

Land of freedom
Land of war
Land of peace
There you are
America!
Land of spirit truth and grace
Land that will never quit the race
May you fight until you're done
Because the battle has not yet been won
America!
Land of the beautiful
Land of the free
Bring the enemy to his knees
May his conscience sear his soul
Till the bell of victory tolls
America!
This is America land of the brave
Though you hurt us our banners continue to wave
High above the skies our spirits soar
As we replace future's door
America!

poem by Mitzie Thorne
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Unachievable dream

Not a flower did grow in the harsh land of misery and woe,
In which a cruel vindictive fate left Elizabeth to wallow,
Sadly she was but a mere child when her innocence was defiled,
As her parents were butchered by a fierce animal in the wild,
Since life was hard she struggled to avoid resorting to whoredom,
And would fantasise about swapping her life for one of freedom,
After years of absence an old acquaintance made an appearance,
And captivated her with tales of a foreign land's opulence,
For its fertile well watered soils had led to food being abound,
And unlike the land in which she lived, prosperity could be found,
She knew that if she travelled there she would not have any regrets,
And so readied herself to emigrate by settling all her debts,
Relocating meant that there were things she would have to sacrifice,
She felt it worth it though if it meant she would reach a paradise,
On her trek there were obstacles with which she had to come to grips,
However thanks due to her determination she had few slips,
To her surprise she succeeded, and her high hopes were exceeded,
Her life changed for the better as she found she had all she needed,
After a fortnight or more she found her new life to be a bore,
And with time came to be as unhappy as she had been before,
She then chanced on a leaflet that caused her spirits to be reborn,
As on it directions to a land of wealth and splendour were drawn,
She grew more certain that her happiness was to be found elsewhere,
And so chose to move in the hope of living a life free of care,
On her trek there were obstacles with which she had to come to grips,
However thanks due to her determination she had few slips,
To her surprise she succeeded, and her high hopes were exceeded,
Her life became better for she had much more of what she needed,
However, she soon realised the quest is worth more than the prize,
And as life is in itself a journey, stopping would be unwise,
For it seemingly seems that contentment is found within a scheme,
By which one can set out to achieve an unachievable dream.

poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh It Is Africa

Oh it is Africa
Oh Africa it is my mother land
land of milk and honey
land of natural beauty
Oh Africa land is where i live
Oh Africa is
A land blessed by God himself
On the day of creation
God threw diamond like stone
gold like rain
He dropped crude oil like rain
Oh Africa
land of milk and honey

Oh Africa
Guns and bombs, tears and mud
Luxury limos race through blood
But bound by debt to hopelessness

poem by Lizzie Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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