Of glass bangles

{thoughts at an Afghan weekly market}

composed in BET class... here goes'

Allah! Shall he exist?
Shall the questions cease?
The paths differ?
One has walked past
Dusty bazaar roads.
Hearing glass bangles
Clink against one another.
Mother of three malnourished
Bright eyed angels…
From behind her veil she
Stares into the distance.
America has sold their lives
To the lord.
And they sell their waking
Moments to dust.
Promises of a better tomorrow,
That’ll never come.
For the roads merge into
The horizon.
The suns sets into an
Orange dusk and
The screams to sell wares
Have died into hoarse
Whispers. Sales are less today.
Bombs have wrecked
Homes and raw emotions
Have driven people away
From the streets.
Tarpaulins are removed.
It hasn’t rained in three months.
The earth is as parched
As souls….
Distant voices of grenades
That yell open warfare
Have taken over peace.
Sandstorms have blurred
The power of vision and
Now promises of a new world
Remain carefully ignored.
Nights settle down
And skies remain ablaze
With hues of blasts.
Day begins…..