Buried Men

I hear a sad sound every time

I pass the daunting big brass bells.

For every time I go my way,

I hear sad sounds of bells that play.

It haunts me every day and night,

till sleep approaches and I rest.

I dream about the haunting sound

of bells that chime above the ground.

I dream a thousand families

are crying every day and night

for losses that they feel so deep,

for father, brother, son they weep.

I ask myself for what they lost

the one they love, the one they raised.

They lost the father, brother, son

so that their country says it won?

Won back the father, brother, son?

Won back the happiness and joy?

Or won the right to say they killed

the hearts the buried men once filled?

Author's Note

Written in 2016