And a pile-up of bones
on either side,
Fracturing the Indo-gangetic
Was hardly easy.
The train’s got to leave
The marauders must slake their thirst
In wells of blood and screams echoing
through unborn lives.
The history cares are swiped at every station
Along the way
Piling debits of the lives of every
wife and daughter lost
Sagt mir wo die blumen sind?
(Where have all the flowers gone?)