Guernica
O.P. Arora
Picasso’s soul cried in anguish
when Guernica was bombed and burnt
like a mad man he rushed
painted his agony in brush.
His Guernica did the rounds
creating consciousness against the hounds...
From Guernica to Lebanon
seventy years on
the world has turned into a slaughterhouse
butchers, bloodsucking dragons
bombing a brand plaything
each one more fierce and barbaric...
A mad race in barbarism indeed
Angulimal’s garland
coveted band....
Picasso’s paint fades
his soul groans...
Tomorrow another butcher slaughters
sucks the blood of new-born babes
his limbs revitalized, his spirit quenched
eyes a new target...
Only the conscience-keepers
faded, jaded over the long years
cry foul, this game of bloodshed
armchair grumblers, and the butchers move ahead.