Tied up the boundary of the countries
and wall the minds
Flowers blooming on the border
They have a question,
for whom to flower?
East or West?
South or North?
Left or right?
For sunrise or sunset?
White or black?
To create or destroy?
Is there a place to wash the blood stains
that splashes on the chest?
Ears that only hear the sound of shock
To be shot,
burned and became charcoal tomorrow….
A patch of grudge lies
through the scorched leaf veins
It tastes like tears
All the flowers in the border are red in colour
-By Sindhu Gatha