"Lockdown at '67"

Like in the days of communal clashes,
Our world became a deserted playground,
A war of pride and power
Is loosed on us,
And every feet is on the run.

Our children walk with tiny heads on bloated stomachs,
Body tattooed with hunger and suffering,
Foot bare on dangerous pathways
Some reckless piece of artwork
unattractive to human stare 

Smiling faces retract to a frown
Brave men tremble like feverish children.
We are lockdown in a war:
Each day rises with horror 
And falls with many dead.
Life has turned its back on us
And is walking away.