A Nation’s Silent Cry: A Poem of Hunger and Unspoken Suffering

Poem ;

Ink on paper,

the story unfolds,

Of lives lost, by hunger’s cold.

Empty fields, where once life did bloom,

Now barren plains, a silent tomb.

How many perished, uncounted,

unseen? Lost in statistics, a number so lean.

A thousand, a million, the truth is unknown,

Each life a whisper, a heart turned to stone.

A cradle stands empty, a book unread,

A vacant space where hope once bled.

Stairs lead to nowhere, a promise betrayed,

A silent witness, in the garden’s parade.

Green fields mock, with the sun’s golden ray,

As hunger gnaws, stealing life away.

Forests stand tall, yet offer no treat,

But bitter bark, a desperate feat.

A fleeting hope, a bird’s fleeting shade,

On parched lips, a cruel charade.

Night falls, a sickle gleams cold and stark,

Reaping dreams of bread, leaving an empty mark.

Black statues reach, hands outstretched in vain, Empty chalices, mirroring the pain. A swaying figure, on a wire so thin, Songs of war echo, where hope used to win.