THE LAST LONELY BIRD

A lonely red bird;flying in the dream,
Travelling between the orange sky and blood red land which were once blue and green,
Cutting through the edges in the narrow windy streams,
Listening to the war downstairs;
which is turning her songs into horrible scream,

Sitting at the tower and listening to the sea,
Wishing for a dram that can bring out the peace,
Then she heard the bullet shots being  pierced down like a septic disease,
Looking at the man enjoying it as if a feast,

memory of peace seems blur and shallow,
her song too has turned blue, dark and mellow,
and daily she flew for miles just to hear a single hello,
but every one seemed busy; lost in their willow

doomed by their ego;man kind will fall,
on the top of her voice; she made this last call,
she is just a bird ; but to stop them she came standing in their way
only one thing on her mind; it's better to burn out then fade away.

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