Voiceless they lie
On the rugged roads,
Snaking down the weeping peaks
Blood streaks across the white snow
And remnants of a battle fought.
Voiceless they were –
Playthings taught to fight
For some cause unknown,
Yet known to those
Who sit in armchairs
And talk about better times.
Shadows have settled over
The village huts.
The sons are dead
And the hearth is cold.
Jaya Pillai
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