The solemn battleground

The solemn battleground
Where only guns make a sound
There is no laughter here
No friends, nobody dear,
Many beg for water, their throats dry and parched,
Others lie dying, their faces pale and starved.
Their worn out shoes and ragged clothes
Try to hide their tortured souls,
Pools of blood are here and there
The rumble of gunfire heard everywhere
There is no place, where they can run,
As the billowing smoke cloaks the sun.
They have to face the guns and knives,
A terrible waste of human lives.
So, after they are gone,
No one remembers their story,
Of bravery and blood drenched glory
All that remains is a place, of which we all lose trace
A place where the dead lie in mounds
And that place is the solemn battleground