The room has been struck by silence,
Yet we cannot hear each other speak.
Scanty as it may seem
Our eyes cannot see our fellow men,
Outcastes by the shades of colours.
Overwhelmed by the drum beats of war.
For every one man is a niche,
Outside of which lies his enemy.
At holy grounds, we are saints,
And outside those crooked walls of worship
We are like wandering beasts
Sufficed by the flesh of others.
Those that lit the fire of hate
Have passed the flaming torch, as the milliards
Are burning the fortress of conflicting walls.