why is that i couldn't cry

why is that i couldn’t cry, aloud
for us, brought up in hidden ridges
with scary nights of gunshots

tears have run dry
and we paint the pain like a dichotomy
on numerous patriots
dying hungry and in desolate cravings

why is that i couldn't cry, aloud

am i waiting for the coffins to fill with tears
am i waiting for the deaths to walk again
am i waiting for children to swear dead wombs

waiting for me to cry again
i have wrought dreams through umpteen promises
teasing martyrs in their graves
for every single drop of tears
may be they will chastise me
seeing me pretending a poet

waiting for me to cry again
i have harvested my soul with fickle desires
writing eulogies for each one them
and sometimes praying them to live my life
and to burry me there, in their graves
for i have done nothing of sort
other than waiting for tears

yet, i am still waiting for tears