The hopelessness

O country, O mother – you must weep

To see your young tortured to death

The chaos of families being separated

Cruelty personified for the sake of freedom

O the children, the peasants’ only riches

Who no longer are at their bosom

They cry into the dark, beating their hearts

Missing their blood sorely

She looks at her man for justice

Who in turn looks away disgraced

For his inability to protect his family

But he is already the living dead

Surely things can’t go so wrong

Didn’t the boy play the flute only yesterday?

A torn shirt showed his young muscles

O precious child- the hope of his aging bones!

He retires into the darkened hut

As she spits into the cold Himalayas

In disgust as her heart bleeds for her child.

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