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here rests a desolate world
where humans fear to tread,

here runs a barbed wire
slashing the heart of the land,

here lies a dead body
an offering to flies and maggots,

here sits a puzzled child
scared but not knowing why …

a black cloud fondles a heart of fire
a fiery explosion cradles a final breath,

gullies filled with the living
sandbags propped by the dead,

hoarse commands filter through flying shrapnel
desperate prayers whisper through scattered bones,

rotting flesh adorns the blackened earth
dying wails fleck the crimson skies …

Here lie a thousand dreams
Because someone spoke on behalf of god.

© Rashmi Pluscec 2013

*****

Todays featured poem comes from Rashmi Pluscec, the second piece we have featured by this accomplished Canadian writer. This piece is stiflingly dark, pointing a finger at the destructive folly of mankind. Rashmi drags us into the poem from the first stanza, and by the end of the poem the reader is left battered and brutalised by the savage, uncompromising use of language and destructive imagery. This is poetry at it’s most prophetic and apocalyptic.

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