Broken were the thoughts
which were firm before.
Molten was the courage
which caused the massacres.
The odd sixty nine
when things didn't go fine.
An execution got declared-
'Muqtada-al-sadr', it uttered.
Peasant was the nourish,
violence was the theme.
Epis were the Shiites and Kurds,
who found it extreme.
Burrows were the escapes
and the life he lived.
Promulgating for fraternity-
ultimately the breathe got seized.
You are not the hero
and you can't be.
You are a lesson,
of a silent decree.
No mourns for you,
and no cries.
The day of thirty,
a hero being spied.
Being shattered are our expectations,
being ruined with time.
You will hold or memories-
with the odd sixty nine.
Tributes for your demise,
but not for you.
Being the oppose of execution,
of yours and the queue.
bpbpersonals
Though Saddam Hussein can never be judged as a good man, my poem basically focuses on the trial conduction by the US against such a person.
have your comments...