This is a story of my nation and my country.Torn today by years of greed, foreign aggressions and internal turmoils


Shall I confide to you a matter today?
something strange that bothers me deep?
up this glowy sky ,sentinels astute we lay,
and horrors of horrors we forsee,
A Tale of people from these earthly bounds,
of sons of a land pure,
moulded through casts of pain,
purged through scouring rain,
not of children of Jerusalem,
nor of Cannites I speak,
but of a place far to the East,
Where few good men found their dreams,
others painted red ,the fields across this journey,
One good day ,sun did arrive,
brightly on the flock it shined,
silently mourned a father for a daughter,
and a mother for her butchered son,
Each heart knew the price of the loss,
every breath sure of the joy, won,
with Glad tidings and a wonderful future,
spirtis high,miseries spared,pain undone,
marched ahead a nation great,
Till one hour grave,
The light at the center of it all,
ceased to be,
disorder followed ,tore the scattered apart,
darkness enveloped, misfortune struck,
hearts drowned in a loathsome curse,
Blue from black, red from gray,
from this sacred dream they all went astray,
the promised oasis at the end of road,
stood nomore,
divine gift trampled below the bedevilled horde,
the place once sought as a righteous abode,
now with charring flames erode,
never had such misery fallen,
on people destined with greatness immense,
with harmony, bliss and love intense,
today now that I see hopes fade,
reminds me what perhaps had waited,
on the other side of a variant fate
instead of this reign of cruelity,
and the blood with such fluency flows ,
that the rivers of the time stand ashamed,
a fortress of truth and an island of virtue,
as beautiful as a maidens smile,
or a babes darling chuckle,
interwined with a mother's bossom,
in a pacified and calm joyous suckle,
Harbingers of whatever Divinity commands,
we , the bonded to the word of God,
feel not what mortal flesh does,
cannot fathom what men propose,
do however slightly incline,
to instance when the sands of time,
flow again to a direction fair,
when this land strange with norms peculiar,
stands again tall and proud,
till the end of the remaining days.

Poetry by sagi
Read 875 times
Written on 2013-12-05 at 15:08

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Ferenc Inigo Beck
Softly patriotic. Our lands are much changed.


The Three Realms,'Mind'
by sagi