The Grounds of No Brethren
by Ananya Anand
The sounds of long-departed bullets
Still drag their feet amongst these barren lands
Echoing years after they’ve claimed a million lives
On the holy Grounds of No Brethren
Often we find lost souls soaring high above us, mourning
Their days of peace and of silence that’re long gone by
They speak of the eons that bore witness to these fields
Bearing flowers in bloom, and not those wilted on our wreaths.
Some of us get swayed by these lores, and wonder
"Could we ever go back to the way things once were?"
Only to be reminded before the stroke of every midnight hour
That we’re cursed to stay forever as the Grounds of No Brethren
A land where we’d rather die with our nails dug deep
Into flesh of the women that we once called our mothers,
Than to perhaps even fathom the idea of freedom
Replacing the vengeance coursing through our blood
Each daylight, we arise drenched in despair
And our hearts beating akin to the drums of war
Fixing longing looks upon one another, wondering
The gateways of whose fate were to welcome their ruin today
Yet, before we crown another massacre as “A sign of the times”
Before another one of our children bids their last goodbye
Can we let these Grounds of No Brethren see just one sunrise
Where the only arms we hold are of those we love?
Still drag their feet amongst these barren lands
Echoing years after they’ve claimed a million lives
On the holy Grounds of No Brethren
Often we find lost souls soaring high above us, mourning
Their days of peace and of silence that’re long gone by
They speak of the eons that bore witness to these fields
Bearing flowers in bloom, and not those wilted on our wreaths.
Some of us get swayed by these lores, and wonder
"Could we ever go back to the way things once were?"
Only to be reminded before the stroke of every midnight hour
That we’re cursed to stay forever as the Grounds of No Brethren
A land where we’d rather die with our nails dug deep
Into flesh of the women that we once called our mothers,
Than to perhaps even fathom the idea of freedom
Replacing the vengeance coursing through our blood
Each daylight, we arise drenched in despair
And our hearts beating akin to the drums of war
Fixing longing looks upon one another, wondering
The gateways of whose fate were to welcome their ruin today
Yet, before we crown another massacre as “A sign of the times”
Before another one of our children bids their last goodbye
Can we let these Grounds of No Brethren see just one sunrise
Where the only arms we hold are of those we love?
Ananya Anand is a writer, poet, and activist from Haryana, India. Presently a senior in high school, yet eternally a lover of literature, she has secured titles in various prolific regional and national events ranging from debate, delegation, writing, research, and has had her work published in reputed global literary journals like the Hispanic Culture Review and Adelaide Literary, among others.