The warlords
Once they were simple friends
Sharing meals and drinks
Sometimes anecdotes of escape
They thought big
They dreamed the good life
Laughing at their perception
Of life in the wealth of nation
The young warriors
As they grew they would
Learned an education
The passport to riches
The school days charm
The years they sat and talked
On the pavements; on the fields
They thought big; they laughed in stitches
When education was done
They flocked to the city
There lived and participated
The machines of wealth creation
Along the way
The young people floated apart
In pursuit of their dreams
The warlords of companies and parties
They don't see each other
The years they marched to their dreams
Of what they said those longing years ago
Now each stand on the ground
They have arrived
Different strokes of dreams
They are the warlords
The nation is the toy land
Different party various views
The young warriors came to the front
Waving flags shouting slogans......
The marching of forces
Different ideology various strokes
The young warriors march on the streets
They issue statements they protests
On their turf they fight to keep it
Don't listen to advice
They think they are the masters
With party veterans behind them
They simply march it on
When they meet on the battlefield
The faces of their young days came full
They peeped into each other eyes
The dreams of the young....
They rush forward
Leaving the members behind
“What are we doing here?
We haven't seen each other for decades!”
“We can't be fighting
We are friends in those long years ago
It is just stupid to carry on”
“Then we better sit down and have teas”
The songs of their lives
The others stare at each other
“What are their leaders doing?
Telling them something?”
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