Our sons have no colour nor creed
these men who wear the flag of their lands with such pride
we carried deep inside our bodies safe
with such love...
They are every mother's son
named at birth
someones child...
there are no faceless bastards here
only someones son,
fighting in wars no one wants
as mothers watch, weeping in agony
seeing our children slaughter each other mercilessly.
We musn't forget, in anger and hate
that somewhere another mother grieves
her son bleeding slowly... dying by inches
defendng his ancestral home.
If war has a colour..
it is the rich crimson of death.
it gouts from torn flesh the same way for us all.
every mother's son
belongs to us all
as we weep for our dead children
no matter where they are
Debashish
This is a profoundly sad but very real write...outstanding job.
pax
I was really attracted to the title, and you have outdone yourself within the poem. You grasp the painstaking reality of what this war means.
I am writing a poem on a similar theme for my mother-in-law right now as my husband, her son, is at war in Iraq with his battalion from Ft. Hood.
I could feel each word in every line, and I think this is a wonderful poem. You capture the essence of what every mother feels who has seen her son taken by war.
I think that America has forgotten what death is; it has forgotten that war begets death (on both sides). Sometimes we can be our own wrorst enemy.
No news is good news for a mother who has lost her son in this war.
Keep on writing. I really enjoyed this poem. Great job!
Latorial Faison, Poet & Author
www.latorial.com
www.authorsden.com/latorialdfaison