You Aimed Your Gun at Me
You aimed your gun at me,
I also did the same.
Who will first be shot?
It's a deadly game.
No, I fear I may die soon,
You may not go back home.
The shell may tear our bodies,
And turn it into loam!
War-mongers will hold meeting,
With the arms-sellers.
They make us Pawns for the Front,
We fight and use their arms.
Their sons enjoy the creams of life,
They don't get fights indeed.
Ours will be orphans if,
None is there to feed.
Let us leave our guns now,
Let us love our lives.
No hatred my dear Pal,
Good wish always thrives.
poem by Nilakshi Das
Added by Poetry Lover
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