The hills have eyes and they are still crying

The hills have eyes and they are still crying
All the four seasons have passed by but these tears and wounds haven’t.
The green fields are veiled by outposts,
the rats and squirrels make their rounds along with my band of brothers.
The clouds would often pay a visit and then leave when the wind whistles,
the streams and rivers hum a serenade for the wailing mother sitting beneath the willow tree.
The kids waving their fathers with the happiest goodbye because,
“my dad will come back home a hero”
Their mothers’ eyes tell a different story.
The relief camps bustles with the children’s laughter as they play “Line Cross”.
At one corner you may hear the teens chirping as their little fingers carefully sew the last strand
of wool to make a nice warm sweater…
Yet,the air echoes a chilling sadness and grief
“Where is home?”
“Where is my sister? I haven’t seen her since the war.”
“I miss my grandmother’s homecooked meal.”
“I want to eat chicken curry”
“When i grow up,i will join the Indian army and protect my family.’’
Everyone’s smiling but we’re still grieving
Everyone’s trying but the heart’s still heavy
Everyone’s hurting but we’re still praying
The hills have eyes and they are still crying
If only i could scatter flowers on the road for you…