through the mists
the voices echo:
soldiers and
secret policemen,
people on the docks
who vanished,
mothers crying
for their daughters,
sons who bled
in back rooms silent,
ideology
of hatred,
justifying
all that evil
now just sleepy
vessels waiting
waiting for
the terror keening,
wailing,
through the mists
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war and hatred are terrible things….
check out my new poem-
https://harshitshukla184.wordpress.com/2020/05/31/my-birth-city-my-hometown/